


Radioactive

by dancewithme19



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancewithme19/pseuds/dancewithme19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is it, the apocalypse. It's hard to ask for forgiveness when you can't forgive yourself. It's impossible to ask for help when no one is listening. Blaine has learned his lessons the hard way, again and again. Now, he just wants to get through his senior year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics from the Imagine Dragons song of the same name. Written post 4x04.

_Welcome to the new age_

_I’m radioactive_

He hasn’t slept since he came back from New York. Not really. He lies in bed and stares up at the ceiling and ignores the sick twisting of his stomach. He flips through the photo album Kurt gave him for his last birthday. He doesn’t even remember what it felt like, to be happy like he is in those pictures.

There’s a part of him that longs, so badly, to be that boy again. There’s a part that scoffs at his naivete.

He passes out, usually, a couple hours before dawn.

He thinks he might be numb. Kurt hasn’t spoken to him in weeks, not even to break up with him. The hope that Kurt would somehow find a way to forgive him flickered out as quickly as it lit inside him – he knows not to expect that. He knows he doesn’t deserve to expect anything.

It’s probably better this way, anyway. Blaine doesn’t trust himself. He looks in the mirror to see if anything has changed, searching his own face, his eyes, his body for the demon, for the _thing_ that’s gone wrong in him. He just sees himself. That’s somehow worse.

He tells his mother, when she asks. She’s worried, she says. She wants to know if anything is wrong in school, and it’s so far off that Blaine almost laughs. He doesn’t. He just tells her that he and Kurt broke up. She leaves him alone after that, and he overhears her tell his father to give him space. He supposes it must be a relief, to them.

He was angry back then, he remembers. He was snappish at home and held his head up at school, through the desertion of one friend after another, through whispers and slurs, through pain and bruises and every blind eye from somebody who could have stopped it. He was defiant. He was alone then, too, but it was everybody else who was wrong, he knew it in his bones.

He tells Cooper, when he calls. He gets a truly sympathetic “I’m sorry, squirt” and a few trite platitudes before Cooper launches into an account of his most recent commercial audition, which he’s a lock for, apparently. Blaine is grateful for probably the first time ever for his brother’s pathological self-absorption.

The glee club stays away from him like he’s contagious. Tina doesn’t talk to him, hardly looks at him. Artie gives him uncomfortable smiles when their eyes meet. Brittany tells him straight out that she can’t sit with him at lunch anymore. She pats his arm and explains, apologetically, “You hurt my favorite unicorn.” Sam pulls out his best supportive bro act, but he gives it up pretty quickly when Blaine doesn’t cooperate. The others take their cues from the seniors.

It’s what he expected.

He goes to school, relying on coffee to keep him conscious, goes to glee, sits at the head of the table at student council meetings. He smiles his best smile, when he needs to. He does his homework. He maintains his 4.0 GPA. He doesn’t fight Tina for solos. He tells Artie to cast him wherever he wants to in _Grease_. He fully expects to be T-bird number 4.

He lies awake at night and tries not to think.

He remembers reading _Of Mice and Men_ his freshman year and feeling so very much for Lennie, who couldn’t help but destroy the things he loved. Blaine understood the urge to cling with both hands and _squeeze_. He was painfully grateful at the time that he, at least, had the self-control to deny himself.

Lennie didn’t understand what he was doing. He _couldn’t_. It’s what makes him such a tragic figure.

Blaine did.

It’s a relief that there’s no one left for him to hurt.

He destroyed the best thing in his life without a second thought. For nothing. For something that he knew could only make him feel worse. It made him feel _sick_.

He did it because it was easy. He did it because that’s what he _does_. He runs away.

He did it because, deep down, he’s always known what his clumsy hands are capable of.

He could see it happening, feel it like hands at his throat, like _his_ hands stroking lovingly at the pulse point just before the final squeeze. His need suffocates. He couldn’t stop it, he knew he couldn’t stop it, so he pulled a knife instead.

He did it because he’s weak.

**& &&&&**

It’s a split second decision when he makes it. He’s feeling restless. The quiet dark is driving him crazy.

Usually when he feels like this, he makes a trip down to the heavy bag in the basement. He hits hard and fast and doesn’t have to think. It feels good.

It’s different tonight. His skin doesn’t feel right, itchy and too hot and not entirely his. He thinks about how long it’s been since someone touched him. The last was probably Kurt, when he kissed him hello in New York. The thought makes his blood run cold.

He gets out of bed, gets dressed, wets his hair and runs a comb through it. His parents are out of town, so there’s no need to be quiet. He grabs his fake ID from its hiding place in his bow tie bin.

The last time he was at Scandals was just about this time last year. Blaine heads straight for the bar. It’s a memory he wants to purge.

He’s a few drinks deep when someone asks him to dance. The guy is probably in his late twenties, average looking, looks at Blaine with clear interest. Blaine says yes. This is simple.

Dancing is nice. It makes him feel present in his body, the music and the rush of alcohol drowning out the endless loop of his thoughts.

This is what he needed, he thinks. And then the guy, what’s-his-name, he slides his hands down Blaine’s sides and around to the small of his back, and Blaine shivers with the pleasure of it. His grip is tight, and warm, and he pulls Blaine closer, so close he can feel the guy’s chest on the inhale. He’s real, flesh and blood and warm breath, and he’s _there_. It’s like Blaine’s blood is singing with it, this hunger he’s been ignoring, woken up and insatiable. His hands find their way up behind the guy’s shoulders, and he presses in, reveling in the shift of bone beneath the guy’s skin and the dampness of sweat leaking through his shirt. The guy’s hands travel, up his back and down, down, down.

The guy buys him another drink when the song ends, and things take their natural course.

They end up in the back lot, the brick cold against Blaine’s back and vibrating faintly with bass notes from within. The guy is on his knees. Blaine’s head is tipped back, and he can see the stars and see his own breath coming hard and heavy. It feels good, but the best part is when the guy looks up at Blaine, lips parted and voice dark, and says, “God, you’re pretty.”

It doesn’t feel like it should. He feels emptier, when they’re done. The guy doesn’t demand reciprocation, which makes Blaine happy, because that sick feeling is back. It churns with the alcohol in his stomach. He gulps down a glass of water from the bar to quell it.

He feels more sober now. It isn’t really very far to his house. He drives slowly and looks four times both ways at intersections, and he’s home before he knows it. The house is still quiet and still dark, and his mind is louder than ever. He’s maybe a little drunker than he thought. He collapses on top of the covers, finding only enough energy to toe his shoes off before letting sleep take him under.

**& &&&&**

He does it again the next night, and the next. The pleasure of being seen, and touched, it makes up for everything else. The disgust has dulled by the end of the week, anyway.

He knows enough to know this isn’t really what he needs, but it’s what he can get.

He doesn’t tell anyone. It’s not hard to guess what they’d think. No, he’s not for sale, but that’s only because he’s offering everything up for free.

They won’t understand the kind of good it feels, that so many people want to take it.

**& &&&&**

He’s always careful. He hides his hickeys, he doctors his hangovers, he smothers his exhaustion with a well-practiced smile. No one says anything.

It’s been about two weeks when he sees the light of concern in his mother’s eyes. She looks at him, really looks at him, and he has to stop himself from shifting under her gaze.

It’s breakfast. Blaine is sipping at his coffee and pretending to read the paper. His mother is gulping hers down at the counter – she’s about five minutes from being late for her first client. She sets her mug down.

“Blaine. Have you been sleeping well, sweetie?”

“No worse than usual.”

“You just look…tired.”

“Sectionals are this weekend.”

There’s a pause at this. Blaine doesn’t look up, doesn’t give in to her scrutiny.

“Are you sure there isn’t something wrong? I know these last few months haven’t been easy for you.”

“I’m fine, Mom. Really.”

He looks her in the eye, very best smile all over his face. She doesn’t smile back.

“If there were something wrong, it would be okay, sweetie. Dr. Ramirez is only a phone call away.”

“I don’t need to talk to Dr. Ramirez.”

“I know you don’t _need_ to. You can just want to. I know how much it helped, before.”

He knows what he should do. He should smile and nod and make a vague noise of agreement. She would let it go and never have to see the frustration that’s been winding tighter and tighter in him since he was beaten up at a school dance and his parents treated it like the problems were all in his head.

But he’s got a headache and his stomach is still a little queasy, and he just doesn’t have it in him.

“ _That_ isn’t what helped. Boxing helped. Transferring to Dalton, _that_ helped. Dr. Ramirez just sat there and never really listened to me and _definitely_ couldn’t have cared less about my ‘difficulties.’ I didn’t go for _me_ , Mom, I only ever went for _you_.”

“Blaine, I…”

She looks at him like she doesn’t know him, like she’s seeing him for the first time. It’s not a happy look. Blaine takes a deep breath and pulls the smile back on.

“I’m fine, Mom. I promise. I’m just a little on edge because of Sectionals. You know how it is.”

She doesn’t. She nods anyway.

“Alright. Well, good luck. Maybe you can get us tickets for this weekend.”

It would have meant the world to him, last year. This year, he’ll be swaying in the back. This year, it would just feel like pity.

“That’s okay. I know Dad’s got that conference.”

“Then I’ll go by myself. It would be nice to meet some of the other parents, anyway.”

“It’s really okay. You won’t be missing much.”

“I love to hear you sing. You know that.”

He doesn’t.

“I don’t even have a solo.”

She pauses. Her eyes narrow in. She opens her mouth, and Blaine doesn’t want to know what’s going to come out. He can guess, anyway.

“You’re going to be late, Mom.”

She glances at her watch and swears, mildly, under her breath. She sets her mug down in the sink with a clatter.

“We’ll talk about this later,” she calls as she pulls on her coat.

They don’t.

**& &&&&**

It’s a routine that works for him. He works hard at school, stays quiet at glee, keeps going to all the clubs that don’t drive him crazy. He does his homework, fills out college applications, takes a certain ironic satisfaction in the fact that he’s grown so good at pretending to care. He knows what people want to see when they look at him. He’s stopped caring that it’s a lie, when he delivers.

He keeps himself busy during the day, and at night, there’s Scandals. He doesn’t go every night, not after the first week or so, but most. He doesn’t always hook up, either. Sometimes, the idea of someone’s hands on his body makes his skin crawl. Others, it’s enough to make him go breathless with need. Sometimes, he feels like an addict.

He sees Sebastian there for the first time a few weeks in. They chat, briefly, and Sebastian eyes him like it’s his birthday and Christmas and he’s gotten every single thing on his list. Blaine almost gives in, almost says yes, because why not? But then he hears Kurt’s voice in his head, the hurt behind the accusation when he asked if it was Sebastian. It wouldn’t be a betrayal, this time, because there’s nothing left between them to betray. It doesn’t matter. It still feels…wrong.

He hooks up with the mildly attractive blond who’s been winking at him from down the bar, instead. It’s an unsatisfying hand job in the bathroom, but it’s enough.

Sebastian eyes him with disappointment and maybe a little concern, because, okay, that guy was probably in his forties and definitely had a wedding band, but Blaine’s 18 and definitely _not_ jail bait, and it’s none of his business anyway. Blaine flashes him a cool smile and asks someone to dance, and they mostly avoid each other after that.

**& &&&&**

Kurt calls around mid-December. Blaine almost doesn’t answer.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause, and for a second, Blaine is sure he’s hung up.

“Hi.”

Blaine waits. Nothing.

“How are you?” he says, for lack of anything better. He really does want to know, it’s important, but he knows he’s not going to find out this way.

“I’m okay. You?”

“Fine.”

Kurt sighs, impatient.

“Let’s not do this. I’m sorry I didn’t call before now. I just – I needed some time.”

“I understand.”

“I’m calling because I’m coming to Lima for Christmas, and I’d like us to meet. I really do want to talk to you, Blaine. About all of…this. I’m ready, now. I just think it would be better if we did it in person.”

“Okay,” he says, because there’s nothing Kurt could ask that Blaine doesn’t feel like he owes.

“I get in on the 21st. Will that work for you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Lima Bean, 4:00?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I guess…I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah.”

“Blaine?”

“Yeah?”

“I just – I want you to know that just because I’m still…hurt, it doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“I know. I care about you, too.”

“Blaine…”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. The 21st?”

“See you then.”

“Goodbye, Blaine.”

Kurt hangs up first. Blaine takes a deep breath, bites his tongue. He won’t cry about this, he won’t. It’s the mess he made. He can deal with the consequences.

He marks the date on his calendar. He just writes “Kurt.” It still feels like the blade of the guillotine, hanging over his head.

**& &&&&**

School lets out for winter break, and suddenly his days stretch out, long and empty.

He finishes his Christmas shopping. It doesn’t take very long. He tells his parents he’s going out to meet friends, then hits the winding, rural roads and drives and drives until the sun sets and his stomach growls, blasting David Bowie so loud he can’t think. He ignores half-hearted texts from Sam, gets his coffee to go, marathons the DVDs that Cooper left behind when he moved out ten years ago. They’re still in his room, alphabetized in the media cabinet like he’d care if they were rearranged. The whole room is a shrine to him, their successful son.

He submits his college applications. He doesn’t really remember what he wrote. It should be enough to get him out of here, at least.

Finally, the day arrives.

He knows what to expect – Kurt wants closure, he needs to understand so that he can move on. Blaine can give him that.

That doesn’t mean he wants to.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to say. He doesn’t try to prepare. The best he can do is to be honest and look him in the eye.

It comes too soon.

He gets there early, but Kurt is earlier. He’s at his favorite table, one cup in his hand and one in front of the chair across from him. He’s drumming the fingers of his free hand against the tabletop.

He looks good. Impeccable as always, with that new air of sophistication that New York and vogue.com have bred in him. His hair is styled high and his outfit is layered self-protectively.

Blaine’s nerves hit a peak, then settle. He moves to the table, sure-footed and straight-backed.

“Hi,” he says. His smile is stuck on polite, he knows that. He doesn’t think Kurt would accept anything more, if he were to offer it.

“Hi.” Kurt’s smile is genuine. “Sit down, please.”

Blaine does.

“How was your flight?” he asks.

“Fine. Crowded, but no screaming babies.”

“That’s good.”

He’s settled in, now, coat and scarf hanging off the back of his chair, and Kurt’s eyes are roving over his face.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Congratulations on the Sectionals win. Finn told me about it.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks. I didn’t really do anything, though.”

Kurt’s brow furrows at this. Blaine takes a sip of his coffee. Medium drip – his regular when they first met.

“How’s everything at work?” he asks, before Kurt can comment.

It’s the right question. Kurt lights up, has a million stories. He smiles his big, brilliant smile and moves his hands in double time, and something in Blaine eases. Kurt is happy.

He can do this, maybe. He can sit here and watch him glow and be supportive and keep him at arm’s length.

This is so much better than he imagined. He figured Kurt would be cold to him from the start, bitter, unyielding. He figured Kurt would tell him he never wanted to see him again and to please refrain from contacting him. He never really considered that they could be…friends. Maybe Kurt really could forgive him just that much. Watching him smile like that…it gives Blaine a certain kind of hope.

Eventually, though, the stories run out and Kurt’s smile fades. He sighs.

“We should really talk about…you know.”

“Do you want to go first?” It’s polite and it’s cowardly, because Blaine would really rather just get this part out of the way. He stiffens his spine for what he knows is coming.

“Okay.” Kurt takes a deep breath, lets it out. He looks Blaine in the eye. “What you did…it hurt me, Blaine. I felt betrayed and, god, so _angry_ at you. I’m still angry at you. You broke my trust and you just, you _ruined_ what was good between us for something meaningless. I honestly don’t think you get how _sick_ it made me to think of you with someone else. I just…I don’t get why you would do that, you know? I go back and forth, because I really just don’t get it at all. Were you trying to hurt me? Get my attention? Were you just so _horny_ you couldn’t handle another night with your right hand? I don’t know.” Blaine winces at this, tries not to show it. “But the thing is, I do know you. You made me doubt it, but I do. I _know_ you, Blaine, and I can’t force you into the role of Asshole Boyfriend Who You’re Better Off Without, the way Rachel keeps telling me I should, because that’s not you. It’s never been you. So I decided that I’m going to hear you out. I’ll listen, and I won’t interrupt, and I’ll keep an open mind, because, Blaine, I…I really do miss you.”

His expression is open, edging toward vulnerable. This, too, isn’t what Blaine expected. The nerves spike in his stomach. He swallows.

“I do, too, Kurt. I…don’t know where to start.”

“Just start with why.”

Honest. Be honest and don’t hide.

“I don’t have an excuse, Kurt. There is no excuse.”

“I’m not looking for an excuse. I’m looking for _why_ , Blaine. I just want to understand what was going through your head.”

Blaine blinks, can’t stop his fingers from fiddling with his coffee cup.

“I’m not sure I can explain it, Kurt, not in a way that’s going to make sense. I was…alone, and I couldn’t handle it. I wanted you, and I couldn’t have you, and I felt like…” He stops, starts again. “I hurt you. It kills me that I hurt you. It didn’t mean anything, and it was stupid. I know there’s nothing I can do to take it back, but I would if I could, I really would.”

Kurt is quiet for a moment. He’s slumped back, posture crumpled around the edges. His face is neutral but for the disappointment Blaine can read so clearly.

“You’re right, Blaine, that doesn’t make sense. _None_ of this makes sense to me. It was just two weeks more. You couldn’t wait _two weeks_?”

“I’m sorry.”

Kurt stares at him, eyes wide, mouth set hard in anger. He crosses his arms across his chest and leans forward.

“You were the one who pushed me to go. You _told_ me to go to New York, you _sang_ to me.”

“I meant it.”

“You don’t get to punish me for not being here when you practically begged me to leave!”

“I know that.”

“Really? That’s all you’re going to give me?”

“I was lonely, and I was _weak_. That’s it. I’m sorry if that isn’t the answer you were hoping for. I’m just – I’m trying to be honest.”

“Blaine – I don’t – I’m sitting here ready and willing. I’m looking for a reason to forgive you, don’t you understand that? You just need to give me a _reason_.”

“There isn’t one.”

“You’re not even going to _try_? You’re just going to give up on us.”

Blaine swallows. He lets his eyes flicker down, he needs to.

Honest.

“I’d like us to be friends, if we could.”

Kurt breathes in, sharply, like he’s been slapped. He sets down his cup, rises to his full height.

“I should go."

“Kurt. I’m _sorry_.”

“I know. That’s not enough.”

“I know.”

Kurt gives a small, tight smile in response. He leaves. Blaine is still frozen in place.

At least it’s over, now.


	2. Chapter 2

Cooper arrives on Christmas Eve. He enters with a bang of the front door, duffel bag of presents slung over his shoulder and a “ho, ho, ho!” tripping merrily off his lips. With that, the house is loud again, almost cheerful. Blaine’s parents have been stepping so carefully around him lately, it’s strange to see them smile in a way that’s not entirely forced.

Blaine joins in, just enough that no one has a reason to be worried. He smiles his best, sings with Cooper at the piano, laughs in the right places when Cooper tells his latest (well-rehearsed) LA stories.

At some point, he even starts to enjoy them.

Maybe it’s because Cooper is hamming it up in a way that Blaine knows is mostly meant for him (he keeps looking at him with the puppy dog eyes and slinging an arm around his shoulders and telling him his harmonies on “Silent Night” were “haunting”). Maybe it’s that Blaine is only now remembering how much he’s missed Cooper since spring. Maybe it’s because something feels genuinely right about his family together like this, sipping eggnog in front of the fire. Maybe it’s even the Christmas spirit, catching up to him. It doesn’t really matter. Whatever the reason, his smiles are starting to feel real.

It’s nice.

**& &&&&**

It doesn’t last.

**& &&&&**

The holidays are wonderful. His parents take actual time off work while Cooper is there, and they do things they haven’t done in years. They go skiing and watch movies together and make popcorn with real butter. They eat dinner at the table every night and tell stories from when the boys were kids. They enjoy each other.

More than that, Cooper takes the time to actually _talk_ to him. He asks Blaine questions about his life, and really, truly listens. Even his parents seem interested in the answers. They look him in the eye without that shadow of a flinch he’s grown to expect. He tells them (edited) stories about glee and the musical and student council, he tells them about college applications and about what he’s learning in Physics, and he avoids any and all questions about his social life, because he really doesn’t want to lie.

Cooper reacts with exaggerated enthusiasm, as if he’s playing the role of Brother Who Cares. It doesn’t matter. It still feels like enough.

It’s just them, one night, the night before Cooper flies back to LA. Blaine is studiously not thinking about that, because he knows that all of this is down to Cooper. The three of them, they’re not enough on their own.

Sean-Connery-as-James-Bond is smirking all over the TV. Their parents have gone to bed. Cooper turns to him during a commercial break.

“So, how are you, really?”

Blaine keeps looking at the television, steadfast.

“I’m fine, Coop. Don’t I seem fine?”

“I guess. It just seems like…I know he meant a lot to you, you know? You never really get over your first love.”

Tears rise up suddenly, choking him and stinging the backs of his eyes. He blinks them away, swallows them down. He wonders if maybe that lady is right – maybe he is paying too much for car insurance.

“It’s over now. I’m working on accepting that and moving on.”

“That’s good, Blainey. That’s good. But just know, I’m here to talk if you need to. I mean it. I’m always a phone call away. And I was thinking, you know, if you wanted to, we could probably arrange for a visit this summer. You could come out to LA, learn everything you need to know about the biz. Meet some cute guys. It could be fun.”

Blaine smiles, and it’s a weird mix of gratitude and something that feels almost like panic. Cooper means well. He doesn’t know, he _can’t_ know, but the thought of flirting bashfully with some twink under his brother’s watchful eye, the way Blaine knows Cooper is imagining it, makes Blaine think he may legitimately throw up. He sips at his water. The feeling dies down.

“Sure,” he says. “That would be great.”

They don’t talk about it, or anything real, for the remainder of the movie. Cooper pontificates on the pressing need for an American James Bond and practices his Scottish accent. Blaine doesn’t say anything at all. Cooper doesn’t really notice.

**& &&&&**

This is how it starts:

It’s almost midnight. School starts tomorrow. Blaine can’t stop staring at the picture of him and Kurt that’s been sitting on his dresser since summer. They look so happy, and in love, and the way the sunlight is striking their faces creates the illusion that they’re lit from within. That picture was a talisman for him during those first six weeks that Kurt was gone. It doesn’t matter what the world throws at them, it says. They’ll have each other, always. Nothing and no one can touch that.

He’s not sure when he started to lose faith, but he knows now that it was for the best.

Everything about that photo is a lie.

He was so blind, such an idiot, so _stubborn_. That kind of love isn’t something that you’re owed. It isn’t something that lasts. He couldn’t let go, and it tore him open, exposed the festering ugliness beneath a surface he’s spent his life cultivating.

He gets out of bed and lifts the frame carefully, fingers trembling. He looks, tries to find the cracks in his smile. It’s smooth, like glass.

He hurls it against the wall. It shatters.

He changes, blindly, into the first clean shirt he can find and the jeans he was saving for school tomorrow. He takes his keys and his wallet and slips silently out of the house.

It ends like this:

He’s cold. The sun has only just risen, casting clean, white light off of last night’s snow. He’s lying in the backseat. He probably shouldn’t sleep. He should probably be outside. He can’t bring himself to move.

There’s a knock on the window.

He looks up. He’s frozen for a second, rigid with the stupid instinct to just _be still, he won’t see you if you don’t move_. He closes his eyes, opens them again, attempts a smile.

At least it can’t get worse.

**& &&&&**

The middle is a blur. There were shots and a few cocktails and maybe a couple beers, and he didn’t pay for any of it. There was dancing, definitely, under pretty colored lights that dance and run together in his memory. There was a guy, maybe two, but definitely the one who brought him home and fucked him so hard he can feel it now, and Blaine doesn’t like reminders, the next day. He knows he has bruises in weird places, because he can feel them, and he probably has a hickey or two, because Mr. Hummel keeps glancing at his neck like he really would rather not but can’t help himself. It’s actually a little funny.

Blaine is maybe still a little drunk.

Mr. Hummel hasn’t said much beyond “What happened?”

Blaine hesitates. His brain is sluggish, but he knows better than to tell the truth.

“I was on my way to school and hit a patch of ice.”

Mr. Hummel’s gaze drifts over him and lands back on his face, skeptical. They both know this isn’t anywhere close to Blaine’s route.

Blaine stands back and watches as Mr. Hummel gets his car hitched up and ready to tow. His parents are not going to be pleased. He imagines his father’s face, when he sees it. He almost laughs.

Mr. Hummel looks at him.

“Come on, kid,” he says, and sighs. Blaine swallows, and follows Mr. Hummel to the front of the truck. He gets in, looks straight ahead. Mr. Hummel makes no move to start the engine.

“Let’s cut the crap. What really happened?”

“I told you. I hit a patch of ice.”

“Yeah, well, that part I believe.”

Blaine is quiet. He chews on his lip, hopes that Mr. Hummel will just let it go already. He’s exhausted and sore and just wants to sleep, and the last thing he wants to do is sit here and be judged by his ex-boyfriend’s father. He used to be kind of afraid of Mr. Hummel, especially when he and Kurt first started dating. He’d been intimidating and gruff, and he was so _protective_ of Kurt… But then he’d thawed off, and they’d bonded over football and supporting Kurt’s dreams, and he slowly but surely became the best father figure in Blaine’s life.

Now, he knows. He’s seen Blaine’s true colors. But Blaine doesn’t have it in him to be afraid anymore.

“I’m not gonna tell Kurt, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried. I just – I’d like to go home, if that’s alright. I can call a cab if that would be more convenient.”

Mr. Hummel ignores that.

“Are your parents home?”

“Yes,” says Blaine, quickly. He doesn’t know if he’s telling the truth. He doesn’t even know what time it is. He just wants this to be over with.

“Did you call them?”

“No. I’ll tell them when I get home.”

“Are you going to tell them where you were last night?”

“I was at home, Mr. Hummel.”

Mr. Hummel chuckles unhappily.

“I don’t know who you think you’re kidding. You smell like a bar and you look like hell. I don’t think it takes a genius to guess what you were up to.”

Blaine looks down at his lap. There’s a fresh rip in his jeans at the right knee. He doesn’t remember how he got it.

“Blaine. Come on, bud, talk to me.”

“Why?”

“I think it’s pretty clear there’s a reason to be worried, here.”

“No, there’s not. I’m _fine_.”

“You’re still _drunk_. You crashed your car into a tree. You look like you were on the losing end of a fistfight. You’re not _fine_. I have half a mind to take you to the hospital.”

“ _No_. Please, don’t. I’m not hurt, I swear.”

“I got to tell you, your judgment’s not impressing me right now.”

“I don’t need the hospital. _Please_. I just want to go home.”

“Tell me what happened, and we’ll see.”

His voice is surprisingly gentle. Blaine looks up. His gaze is gentle, too. Blaine bites his lip again and looks back down at his knees.

“I went out last night. There was a guy, and things got a little…rough. But it was consensual, and I’m 18, so it’s not like… Anyway, we fell asleep and then he drove me back to my car, and I thought I was okay to drive. You know what happened next.”

Mr. Hummel is silent. Blaine can’t look up. Mr. Hummel clears his throat.

“Were the two of you, uh, safe?”

“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Yeah, he… Yeah.”

“That’s good.”

Blaine concentrates on breathing, nice and smooth, without a hitch.

“Will you take me home now? Please?”

“Yeah, kid. Let’s go.”

**& &&&&**

Mr. Hummel is quiet the entire ride to Blaine’s house. He turns on the radio, dials it to classic rock. Blaine is grateful. The ride is only about ten minutes, but it feels like hours.

“You want me to come in with you?”

It’s that same strangely gentle tone. Blaine shakes his head.

“No. Thank you.”

“I know you don’t feel comfortable talking to me about what’s going on, but you know where to find me.”

Blaine nods, stiffly. He clears his throat.

“I didn’t think it’d be you. When I called AAA, I mean.”

“I figured.”

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hummel.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He gets out of the truck, limbs still a little clumsy, and hurries up the front walk. Mr. Hummel waits. He doesn’t pull away until Blaine is inside the house.

He leans back against the door and huffs out a sigh.

“Blaine! Thank God, I was so worried!”

It’s his mother. She swoops in, heels clicking neatly against the entryway tile, and wraps him up in a strong, tight hug. He winces, because he desperately needs a shower and because he’s got bruises scattered over his ribs. It’s been maybe months since his mother touched him like this.

“You weren’t here and you weren’t picking up – there is a reason we pay your phone bill, Blaine Devon Anderson, and it isn’t so that you can text your friends. Who goes out at this time of the morning, anyway? I was about to call the police.”

He doesn’t respond. She pulls back, brow wrinkled in concern. She scans his face.

“Sweetheart, what happened?”

Her voice is far kinder than he deserves. He blinks back sudden tears.

“I – I crashed the car, Mama. I ran into a tree.”

“ _What_? Are you alright?”

Her hands start to trace over him, face to torso, like she’ll be able to sense his injuries through her palms.

“I’m fine. I wasn’t hurt, I promise.”

“Thank God. How did this happen?”

“I hit a patch of ice.”

“How bad is the damage to your car?”

“It’s…not good.”

“Oh, Blaine.”

“I’m sorry.”

She starts to say something, probably to give some sort of reassurance, but she pauses. Breathes in. Her eyebrows scrunch together.

“Blaine.” Her voice is dangerous. “Have you been drinking?”

A reflexive “no” rises in his throat, but doesn’t quite make it off his lips. Her eyes are narrowed in, now, like lasers, taking in his state of dishevelment, the deep dark circles beneath his eyes, the unusual pattern of bruising across his face and neck.

“Did you go out last night, after we went to bed?”

He pauses. He nods. He’s tired of lying. It takes so much energy, and right now he’s got none. He feels himself sway, vaguely, like he’s maybe in danger of falling. It would make sense. He wants nothing more right now than to get horizontal.

“Where did you _go_?”

“Scandals.”

“The _gay bar_ in West Lima?”

He rolls his eyes, because really.

“Yes, Mom, the gay bar. Just because my boyfriend broke up with me doesn’t mean I stopped being gay.”

“That’s not what I thought, Blaine, don’t put words in my mouth. You’re _underage_. You shouldn’t be going to bars of any kind.”

“Teenagers drink all the time, Mom.”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. Other people do it, so it’s okay.”

“That’s not – ”

“My son, my teenaged son, stays out all night drinking, crashes his car into a goddamn tree, and has the audacity to tell me I’m _overreacting_? Blaine, you could have hurt someone. You could have hurt yourself, you could have been _killed_.” She stops, gathers herself. “Honey, you have to understand. What you did wasn’t just irresponsible – it was _dangerous_. It can’t happen again.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do. I hear you, you know. When you think you’re sneaking out. I hear you. I never said anything because I thought – I don’t know what I thought. I thought you were going to a friend’s house, I don’t know, indulging your latent teenage rebellious side. You’ve always been so responsible. I figured you’d earned my trust. As long as you were happy and your grades stayed up, I didn’t think I had to worry. Is that where you’ve going, all this time?”

He nods. She sighs, face going hard.

“Blaine. You’re grounded. Nothing but school and extracurriculars until I say so. Your car privileges have been revoked indefinitely. And I’m making an appointment with Dr. Ramirez for this afternoon.”

“Mom, that’s not – ”

“ _None_ of that is negotiable.”

“I’m _fine_ , Mom. I don’t need therapy. _Please_ don’t make me go.”

Maybe it’s because he’s near tears and she can see it, but her expression softens. It doesn’t do a thing to calm the desperation that’s clawing at his throat. He clenches his fists so hard his fingernails bite into his palm. He breathes in. He breathes out. It feels more like a gasp.

“You’re not fine. I’ve been blind to this for too long, honey. I don’t know what you did last night, but I can recognize a cry for help when I see one. You’re hurting, darling, and I don’t know how else to help you.”

That’s it. It’s gone, every last shred of self-control he possesses has been worn down. Tears are leaking out his eyes and the choking, swollen feeling gives way to sobs. It hurts. They rip through his throat and wail out of his mouth, and it might be the worst thing he’s ever felt, standing there with his guts exposed, crying in front of his mother. She wraps him up again, more gently this time, one hand soothing through the matted hair at the back of his head.

“Shh,” she murmurs. “It’s okay, honey. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby,” over and over, in a loop he half-remembers from childhood, when he used to come to her with nightmares. His knees have gone weak – he rests his weight against her. She’s small, only just his height in her tallest heels, but she stays steady, holds him up as he falls completely apart.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Mama,” he manages to choke out, into the damp skin where her shoulder meets her neck.

“I love you,” she says, fiercely. “I don’t care what you’ve done or what’s happened to you. I love you just the same.”

It’s everything she’s never said. He’s needed to hear it, so very desperately, so many times, but never more than he does right now. It only makes him sob harder.

**& &&&&**

He doesn’t go to school that day. His mother cancels her clients, citing family emergency.

He sleeps and she makes him lunch. They talk. He convinces her to give up on Dr. Ramirez. He promises to make an appointment with Ms. Pillsbury when he goes back to school.

She tells his father over the phone, at some point when Blaine is asleep. He’s mostly just angry about the car, when he gets home. He tells Blaine he’ll have to help them pay for his new insurance premiums. He leaves the uncomfortable conversations to his wife.

They eat family dinner at the table. They watch _The Voice_ together – his father even attempts to make commentary. Blaine is so zoned out he doesn’t know if he succeeds. He’d rather go up to his room, but his mother doesn’t seem to want to let him out of her sight.

They hug him good night. His father looks him in the eye and says “I love you, kiddo.”

He falls asleep practically the second his head hits the pillow.


	3. Chapter 3

At first, it’s just to appease his mother. Ms. Pillsbury is very nice, but she’s a little…timid. She gives him two pamphlets right at the beginning of their first session, a wide, earnest smile on her face: _So, You’ve Hit Rock Bottom…_ and _Depressed or Just a Mess?_ The jury is still out as to whether they’re more offensive or refreshing.

She asks him questions. He lobs back the safest answers he can without actively lying. Her smile never falters, but it does dim, a little, by the end. He’s sure she’s remembering how easily he opened up the last time, when he and Kurt came together and he got so carried away.

They meet three times a week, during the first half of his lunch. She encourages him to communicate more openly with his parents. She tells him he should work harder at cultivating his friendships. She gives him more pamphlets, one memorable one filled with friendly cartoon representations of the ten most common STDs. He throws it in the trash as soon as he leaves. He can only imagine the hell he’d be put through if he were caught with it.

“Do you think you might be depressed?” she asks him one day.

He doesn’t even have to think about it.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would mean there was something wrong with my brain, right? Some sort of chemical imbalance?”

“I suppose.”

“I don’t need an excuse, or a way to avoid taking responsibility. It’s not like I did any of this because I couldn’t _help_ myself.”

“So then why did you?”

_Because I’m a needy, clingy mess, and I lost control. Because I’m weak. Because I don’t know the first thing about real love, but sex is easy. Because I don’t recognize myself anymore._

“I don’t know.”

He finds that’s just as true.

She looks at him, her gaze sharp and bright.

“You know, Blaine, one of the things that’s helped me the most with my OCD is learning to accept that there are certain things that I can’t control.”

“That’s different.”

“Why is it different?”

“You have a…condition. I don’t have any problems that I didn’t create for myself.”

She searches his face a moment, looking for something that she doesn’t find. She leans back in her chair and smiles tightly.

 “Alright.”

He looks away, unable to shoulder the weight of her disappointment.

“How have you been coping, lately?”

“I haven’t totaled any more cars, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I’m more interested in how you’re feeling.”

“I’m fine. Honest. My parents have been really great with everything.”

It’s true, and his smile is about as sincere as it can be, considering. Ms. Pillsbury’s doe eyes go big and round with earnest sympathy. She’s gentle, so gentle when she leans forward and says:

“You haven’t been feeling any urges to self-harm?”

He gapes, he can’t help it.

“I don’t…do that, Ms. Pillsbury. I would never do that.”

“There’s more than one way to hurt yourself, Blaine. From what you’ve told me – ”

“I think I’d better go. Lunch is almost over, and I want to make sure I have time to eat with my friends.”

He smiles politely. It was rude, to interrupt her like that, but he had to make her stop talking. She nods, equally polite. He slings his book bag over his shoulder and hurries to the door.

“See you Friday?” she calls as he’s leaving. He tosses her a quick nod.

He makes it to the parking lot before he remembers. He’s stuck.

He heads back in to the Astronomy classroom and works on his Calculus homework until the bell rings.

**& &&&&**

He still feels the urge, late at night. He has Sebastian’s number, still. He could call, and Sebastian would come pick him up, and they could go out together, or maybe just back to Sebastian’s house. If he takes the back door and makes it back before 3 AM, his parents will never know. It would be so easy. It would be nice to feel someone look at him like he’s something beautiful.

Ms. Pillsbury is wrong. He didn’t do it to hurt himself – he did it to _stop_ hurting.

He gets as far as getting dressed, sometimes. He pulls up his contacts and hovers his thumb over _Sebastian Smythe_ , but he never presses down. He thinks of calling a cab, but he doesn’t do that, either.

He keeps imagining the look on his mother’s face, if she found out. It never even occurred to him, before, that she would, but now… He can’t lose whatever trust she still has in him. He wants to _deserve_ her love. He wants to do this one thing right.

So he turns off his phone and hides it in his sock drawer. He purges his room of any lingering reminders of Kurt, puts them in a box and buries it in his closet, like Ms. Pillsbury suggested. It’s ironic and a little sad, putting Kurt in the closet, but it does help.

He pads down to the basement and the heavy bag, when his skin starts to itch. He fractures his left pinky, one night, but at least he doesn’t have to lie about it. His dad signs him up for lessons at his gym when he finds out.

Ms. Pillsbury suggests that he channel his feelings into music. She lights up when she tells him, like it’s a solution she’s been searching for, long and hard, like it’s _the_ solution. Blaine is…ambivalent. He hasn’t felt much like singing in months, but there’s a part of him that’s started to yearn for it.

She tells him he should start participating more in glee club. He smiles and says he’ll try. He forgets that Mr. Schue has no qualms about informing on him.

She tells him to pick a song to sing to her for their next meeting. He sings “Live While We’re Young,” and it feels kind of awesome. She claps wildly and smiles widely and gives him a standing ovation. He takes a bow. She clears her throat delicately and clarifies that she meant for him to pick a _meaningful_ song.

“Sure,” he says, smile coming quick to his lips.

He tells her, next time, that he forgot.

She sighs.

“You don’t have to sing it for me if you don’t want to, Blaine. Just – find something that speaks to you and sing out your feelings. I know the auditorium is free most days, or you could do it in your room if you’d like more privacy. It doesn’t really matter. I just think you’ll find it helpful.”

He tries, he really does.

She doesn’t bring it up again.

Mr. Schue gives him a solo for Regionals – he won’t take no for an answer, and Blaine is sure he knows why. Tina congratulates him. Artie goes in for a fist bump. Brittany hugs him tightly and says she missed him. Sam pats him on the shoulder with a hearty “Welcome back, bro.”

“Thanks, guys, but I’ve actually been here the whole time.”

Brittany cocks her head.

“I thought that was your evil twin.”

Eventually, his parents ease out of panic mode and stop treating him like a bomb that’s about to go off. They use the insurance money to get him a new (used) car and give him the keys on a probationary basis.

Sam invites himself over one afternoon to “hang out.” Blaine doesn’t have the heart to turn him away. They listen to music and watch bad science fiction on Netflix. Blaine’s mother invites him to stay for dinner, eyebrows waggling behind his back in a mortifying way that Blaine knows he has to nip in the bud.

“Sam is straight,” he hisses, while Sam is washing up in the bathroom. “He is my friend and he is _straight_.”

“Okay,” she says, lips quirking up in an amused smile. “But it would be okay if he weren’t. Or if you wanted to bring by any other cute boys you may know.”

“I _know_.”

“Good.” She kisses his cheek and smiles at him, warmly. She starts to hum something tuneless as she turns back to the stove. He watches her for a moment. His heart starts to swell. It feels suddenly like…like he lost his mother, somewhere along the way, and here she is.

He hugs her from behind and hooks his chin over her shoulder.

“Thanks, Mama.”

She smiles, again, and swats him lightly upside the head.

“Go wash up for dinner.”

**& &&&&**

He’s lying awake one night. It’s bad. His brain won’t stop, images on a loop. Good, bad, the things he had and the things he lost and everything he destroyed. That look people get when they realize they were wrong about him. He’s got adrenaline running through him, he can feel it speeding up his blood and making his fingers shake. He can almost actually feel hands on his body. He’s not sure whether he wants more to make it real or to make it go away. He’s about five seconds from screaming.

He doesn’t. He gets up, hovers over his sock drawer a moment before turning violently away. He has his keys in there, now, too. He reaches instead for his bathrobe.

He goes downstairs, holding onto the bannister for fear his trembling legs will give out. He pauses in front of the basement door. He makes a decision. Not tonight.

The piano in the den is his. They bought it for Cooper when he was nine and just starting his lessons, but Blaine is the one who took to it. Cooper tried piano, violin, oboe, tuba, guitar, and even harp before finally deciding that music lessons were a waste of time. Blaine started at four and stuck with it until his parents started funneling their money into Dalton and couldn’t afford his lessons anymore. It didn’t matter, then. He had the Warblers.

He hasn’t played, _really_ played, in years. He fiddles around with accompaniments, but it’s not the same.

He shuts the door carefully, quietly. His parents’ bedroom is directly above. He dims the lights up just enough to see and settles himself at the bench. Already, he can feel his heart beginning to calm. He doesn’t bother finding his old sheet music, just sets his fingers to the keys and plays.

He closes his eyes. It’s like his fingers are flying, like _he’s_ flying, flitting through the air on hummingbird wings. He doesn’t know what he’s playing, doesn’t care. He lets his body fall back into the rhythm he used to know like breathing. It’s like…there’s been music inside him this entire time, aching to be set free, beating at the bars of his ribcage, and now, finally…

The door creaks open. His fingers stutter over the keys, then stop completely. It’s his father, squinting in the low light. His hair is rumpled from his pillow and his robe is tied loosely around his waist.

“Sorry,” says Blaine, jumping up from the bench. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I know, son. That’s…It’s been while since I heard you play like that.”

“Yeah. I – I was playing as softly as I could, I didn’t think – ”

“It’s fine. We sleep light, you know that.”

“I forgot.”

His father yawns, then sits heavily on the couch. It squeaks, slightly, as he makes himself comfortable.

“Have a seat.”

Blaine sits back on the piano bench, stiff with apprehension.

“Are you still having trouble sleeping?”

He looks so genuinely concerned. Blaine looks away.

“Sometimes.”

“Are you talking about it with that counselor of yours?”

Blaine bites his lip.

“Yeah.”

“Look, Blaine, I just… I want you to do whatever you need to, alright? If boxing helps, great. If it’s playing piano in the middle of the night, we’ll get ear plugs.” He pauses. Blaine still doesn’t look up – he’s not sure he knows how. His father huffs a sad sigh. “I know we didn’t handle things all that well the last time things were…bad, for you. I know I don’t always understand. But your mom and I, we really are trying to do better.”

Blaine swallows down the lump of emotion that’s lodged itself in his throat.

“I know.”

“I hope you know you can come to us. If you need anything, I mean.”

“I know.”

“Now, why don’t you play me something?”

Blaine looks up, at that. His father is smiling, warm and encouraging. He remembers when he used to put on concerts, when he was a kid. He’d make his own tickets and set up two chairs in just the perfect spot and beg his parents to attend. They’d smile stiffly the whole way through, eyes glazed over and half their attention on the stock market or whatever else was more important that day. They never really did like classical music.

“That’s okay. I know you have to get up early tomorrow.”

His father smiles, thoughtfully.

“I’ve missed this, you know. Having music around the house. You used to play all the time, and so beautifully. I used brag about you, when all my colleagues would complain about their little darlings trying to learn the recorder or, ugh, the violin – I know you couldn’t have been more than five, but you must remember what it was like those two weeks that Cooper took it up.”

Blaine does. He thought Cooper was torturing a cat and tried to bust down his door to come to its rescue.

“You did?”

“Of course. You’ve always been so talented.”

“I – thank you.”

“Now play me something, will you?”

Blaine smiles.

“Okay. What would you like to hear?”

“Whatever you feel like.”

He thinks a moment, then starts to play. It’s something fast and light that he learned when he was 12 and played so much his father started asking him to shut the door when he practiced. He always liked the way it felt, in his fingers. He glances up, a few times, just to check. His father is smiling faintly, his eyes closed. Blaine is a little worried he’s fallen asleep.

“I remember that one,” he says, when Blaine has finished.

“I used to play it a lot.”

“Mm.”

He smiles, to himself more than to Blaine. He gets up, brushes out the wrinkles in his robe.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Should I – ”

“Keep playing as long as you want, son.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dad.”

He shuts the door as he leaves, softly.

Blaine yawns. He strokes one hand over the smooth, polished wood of the soundboard. He gets up, turns out the light, and pads softly up to his room.


	4. Chapter 4

He’s been eating lunch with the glee club lately. It seems that everything has been forgiven and forgotten, especially in the sobering light of Regionals, coming at them like a freight train. He’s _present_ at rehearsals in a way he hasn’t been. He catches up on four months of gossip he largely ignored and lets Tina help him detangle the social politics behind the latest love polygons. Brittany ropes him into dancing with her for their assignment one week, and Sam and Artie are right behind with requests to duet.

Performing used to be his favorite thing in the world. The stage felt like home. It was a place where he was valued, where people looked at him, saw him, saw something _good_. He could be who he wanted to be, and no one would question it. He was in control.

He’s starting to get some of that back. It’s just, there are times when it still feels like such a _lie_.

Valentine’s Day arrives. Sugar decides to make the Sugar Shack an annual thing and infuriates the glee club by only inviting about a third of them.

“Happy couples only,” she says sweetly, with a little finger wave at Artie.

Tina hosts a singles-only party in retaliation. It’s at her house and includes plenty of liquor, and the decorations consist entirely of ironic (and kind of morbid) black, sparkly hearts. Blaine leaves his cell phone in the car and doesn’t drink, because he’s feeling unpredictable and a little out of control, and he doesn’t have a designated driver to take him home when he’s had enough.

It’s mostly a New Directions crowd, mixed with some girls that Blaine vaguely recognizes from class and a guy that Tina knows from Asian Camp. He smiles widely when Blaine introduces himself and proceeds to look him over in a way that Blaine is intimately familiar with by now. Tina smiles, something steely in her eyes, and steers the guy over to Sam.

He drifts back.

Blaine doesn’t mind. The guy (Paul?) isn’t drinking much, and he’s funny, and he bites his lip whenever Blaine meets his gaze. There’s something easy about talking to him.

Tina’s music is a weird mix of indie girl rock, European punk, and top 40 from three years ago. Paul asks him to dance, looking for all the world like it’s costing him to maintain eye contact while he waits for a response. Blaine smiles and nods and takes the hand he’s offering. It’s a little clammy, but that’s alright. Blaine isn’t drinking, and he really wants to be, and dancing is the next best thing.

Tina’s got the lights low and the music loud enough that they can’t talk, here, near the speakers. The bass line is a vibration deep in his stomach. He welcomes the hand he can feel pressing tentatively between his shoulder blades, winds his arms around Paul’s neck as he moves his body. He can feel Paul’s warm, boozy breath coming hard against his cheek.

The hand eventually grows bolder, on his back, and lower. Blaine presses close, and Paul angles his hips conspicuously away. He’s got his eyes closed. It’s endearing.

He pulls away a few songs in, to Blaine’s disappointment. His eyes are wide and kind of intense, hand clutching into Blaine’s side, pulling his shirt tight over his torso. It’s hard to tell in this light, but he looks flushed, and like maybe he’s had more to drink than Blaine thought.

“You want to go get some air?” he says. Blaine smiles widely and nods. Something reckless inside jumps. It’s the part of him that’s missed this.

They grab their jackets and head out to Tina’s front porch. The music is only faint, out here, and the stars are endless and bright in the dark night sky.

“You having fun?” says Blaine, after a moment of companionable silence. He looks up at Paul purposefully, eyelashes hanging low. He smirks lightly and runs a hand up Paul’s chest and down his arm, lingering over his bicep. He enjoys the sharp intake of breath that he’s sure Paul didn’t mean to betray.

“Yeah,” he breathes. Blaine waits, patiently, for Paul to take the hint. He winds a hand up into the hair at the nape of Paul’s neck. Paul blinks, then leans down, slowly, eyes flitting up to Blaine’s like he’s checking to make sure it’s okay, like Blaine will pull away any second.

He doesn’t.

Paul is by no means an expert kisser. He’s sloppy and wet and uses his tongue too aggressively. Blaine tries to reel him in, slow him down, but he’s eager and he’s been drinking. He’s making these soft little whining noises and gripping Blaine’s shoulders so hard it hurts.

He pulls away, breathing hard, just when things are starting to get kind of good.

“Wow,” he murmurs, eyes wide and blinking fast.

Blaine smiles, politely, and tries to pull him back in.

“Wait a second. Just – I need a moment. Sorry.” He’s blushing and looking away, and something dawns on Blaine. He drops his hands, carefully.

“Have you…done this before?” He tries to keep it polite, curious, but there’s no real way to soften a question like that.

Paul bites his lip.

“No. That…that was kind of my first kiss.” He’s almost whispering, won’t meet Blaine’s eyes. He’s mortified, clearly, but Blaine can’t stop the way he recoils. It’s like a dose of cold water, shot straight into his veins.

He feels like apologizing. He knows that would make things worse.

He reaches up, carefully, raises Paul’s chin until he’s met his eyes. He smiles as best he can and leans up to kiss him again. It’s soft this time. Gentle.

“You ready to go back in?”

He nods dreamily, stars in his eyes. Blaine smiles again, like a reflex, and looks away.

“Come on,” he says.

Paul sticks close to him the rest of the night. He’s still funny and the conversation is still easy, but there’s something there, now, like an undercurrent. Paul keeps touching him, and holding eye contact for too long, and he can’t read Blaine’s signals.

He doesn’t want to take this guy’s virginity. He doesn’t want to lead him on. He doesn’t want that look of his, like Blaine is a sip of cool water in the desert.

He also doesn’t want to be rude.

Tina comes up to him, when Paul is in the bathroom. She’s serious, determined, and leans in close to be heard.

“You know that Paul has never had a boyfriend, right?”

“I gathered. Why are you telling me this?”

He knows. It’s obvious what she’s going to say.

“ _Because_ ,” she says. “He’s a good guy, Blaine, and he doesn’t deserve you messing with his head.”

“I’m not.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“I see the way he looks at you, even if you don’t. He _likes_ you, Blaine. I just don’t want to see him get hurt.”

She’s so earnest. He feels suddenly, irrationally angry.

“I’m not planning to _hurt_ him. And I really don’t see how any of this is your business.”

Her eyes flash. She leans in closer.

“I’ve forgiven you for what you did to Kurt, but don’t think I’ve forgotten. Paul is one of my best friends, and the last thing I want is for him to get his heart broken by some guy who can’t keep it in his pants.”

It couldn’t sting more if she’d slapped him.

It’s unfair. It’s not the same, and it’s _unfair_ of her to wield that against him when he’s trying so hard.

That doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

He stares at her. He can’t think of anything to say. She deflates a little, but she stands her ground.

“I’m leaving,” he says. “Tell Paul I said goodbye.”

He sits in his car and tries to breathe, and won’t turn the key until he knows he’s going home when he leaves.

His phone buzzes. He retrieves it from the glove compartment. It’s Sam.

_U ok, man?_

_Yeah. Just tired._

_U want sum cumpeny?_

Blaine snorts. Sam’s spelling skills, while never fantastic, tend to have an inverse relationship with his blood alcohol levels.

He considers. His instinct is to say no.

 _Sure. I’m still in the driveway_.

Sam is a hilarious drunk. Blaine’s parents are still out, so they watch _Star Wars_ on the big TV in the den. Sam knows all the dialogue and does all the voices and gets _so excited_ about every terrible special effect. He spouts off trivia like he’s swallowed the Wikipedia page, and he makes Blaine act out the final light saber battle with the fire pokers Blaine’s family hasn’t used since, well, ever, as far as Blaine can recall.

It’s fun. Even if Blaine is a little worried that Sam is going to poke his own eye out. Or maybe Blaine’s. He forgets all about Paul and Tina and the whole mess until they’re about to part ways for bed and Sam claps him on the shoulder. He leans in close, personal space an issue that he’s clearly not concerned with, and says, “You’re a good guy, man. I mean, like, screw Tina, you know? You’re probably the best guy I know.”

Blaine is touched, though the fact that Sam is blasting beer breath at him reminds him to take it with an entire handful of salt.

“Thanks. You’re a good guy, too.”

Sam smiles goofily, claps him on the shoulder, and makes it to the guest room without stumbling more than once.

Tina catches him after glee the next day, looking contrite and still mildly hungover. She gets straight to the point and apologizes.

“I know I was drunk, but I still shouldn’t have said that. It was…”

“Uncalled for?”

“I was going to say ‘really bitchy,’ but I like yours better.”

She smiles at him hopefully.

There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to accept her apology and a part that wants to tell her there’s no need to apologize at all. In the end, he smiles graciously and tells her there are no hard feelings. He doesn’t ask after Paul.

**& &&&&**

They win Regionals. His parents travel all the way to Akron to see, roses in tow. Everyone hugs him backstage – they tell him, over and over, that it was his solo that made the difference.

It feels good, on that stage. It feels _freeing_. He feels like he’s come home.

It’s a good day.


	5. Chapter 5

College letters have started trickling in. He thinks he’s supposed to be more anxious about it – Tina and Artie seem to be in competition over who can have the biggest public meltdown (so far, Artie is winning). The hallways are full of a tension that’s plucked like a guitar string with every piercing squeal of “I got in, I got in!”

Blaine has spent most of the year very carefully not thinking about the future, so he supposes it’s not surprising that he can’t muster up that kind of excitement over a few letters.

He gets in to NYU, UCLA, Boston University, and OSU. He’s wait-listed at Columbia. He’s rejected from Harvard. He hasn’t heard from Vassar or Yale.

His parents throw him a celebratory dinner with every acceptance and try very obviously hard not to pressure him into making a decision. He doesn’t have to let the schools know until the end of April. He’s not ready to think about it yet.

Artie approaches him one day and tells him he should try out for the drama department’s spring production, for which he’s scored a position as assistant director.

Blaine’s never really considered just _acting_ before. He’s a singer at heart, defines himself through music – the thought of standing up on stage with nothing at all, nothing but himself…it would make him feel _naked_.

But then, maybe that’s what he needs.

The show is _Romeo and Juliet_. He knows why Artie asked him to audition. He knows which part they’re expecting him to try for. He knows he could probably do it, too, considering his experience and his stage persona.

He doesn’t want it.

He tries for Mercutio instead.

There’s something about his tragedy that resonates with Blaine. He dies defending his best friend, caught up in a fight that was never even his. The love between him and Romeo is epic, strong enough to turn the entire play on its axis. He just…feels for Mercutio in a way that he can’t for Romeo or Juliet, who are cut down by nothing more than their own foolishness. He used to think that was sad. Now, he just finds it frustrating.

Artie does a double take when he sees Blaine’s audition form. He takes over the mike and asks, very carefully, if he’s _sure_ he doesn’t want to be considered for any other parts. Like déjà vu. Ms. Dietrich, the director, a middle-aged woman with a severe bun that she seems to use as a pencil holder and huge, thick-framed glasses, steers the mike back in her direction with a cool smile.

“I believe I’ll ask the questions, Artie, thank you.”

She looks expectantly at Blaine.

“ _Are_ you sure?”

“Tybalt would be fine, or Benvolio. Or Friar Lawrence, if you think I would fit best there.”

Artie looks about a second away from pounding his head on the desk. Or maybe snatching the microphone back. Probably both. The director shoots him a glance.

“Shall we get started, then?”

He’s always liked Shakespeare, the way it feels like music spilling off his lips. It’s even better on a stage, where he has room to move, and the words can fill up the space just as well as any song. It gives him that feeling he loves, like the audience is with him, for better or for worse. They follow him through the highs and the lows, the swells and the retreats, trusting him to guide them safely through. Even if it is only two people.

Artie claps when he’s done, relief and disappointment fighting for dominance on his face. The director smiles.

“Thank you, Blaine,” she says. “We’ll let you know.”

He gets a call back. He’s the only one there reading for Mercutio.

It isn’t surprising at all when the cast list goes up, but that doesn’t stop the grin from spreading like wildfire across his face. He may even pump his fist in the air.

Cooper goes wide-eyed with excitement when Blaine tells him over Skype and immediately starts babbling about “clearing his schedule” for the end of April.

“Coop, seriously, don’t worry about it. It’s not even a lead.”

“I couldn’t miss my little brother’s first big role!”

Blaine doesn’t bother reminding him about _West Side Story_. He knows it won’t count to him anyway. Broadway is dead, after all.

He finds that he likes being in Mercutio’s skin. It feeds that reckless part of him that he still has to fight back, sometimes, with his piano and his punching bag. He finds himself sleeping better, at night.

Spring break arrives. Blaine busies himself memorizing his lines and making pro/con lists to help with his college decision-making. Sam comes over almost every day. Blaine even invites him first, sometimes. They play video games and watch March Madness and brainstorm ideas for prom. It’s fun, and it’s easy.

Todd DeWitt, the guy playing Romeo, invites him over to run lines one afternoon. He’s kind of intense, but Blaine’s used to that, and he’s nice enough. He makes a good Romeo, even if he has a few habits that make Blaine wonder if Cooper has started a side business making how-to videos.

At least he isn’t pointing.

His mom bakes them cookies and invites Blaine to stay for dinner. Blaine’s first instinct is to demure, but there’s something in the wide-eyed way Todd is waiting for a response, like he’s embarrassed that his mom even asked, but he’s hoping the answer will be yes. Blaine remembers, then, the way Todd doesn’t really sit _with_ the other drama kids at rehearsal so much as _near_ them. He accepts. The meatloaf is dry, but so is Todd’s wit, and it’s worth it.

They marathon _I Love Lucy_ after dinner until it gets so late that Blaine knows his mother will be up worrying, no matter how many times he texts her that he’s fine. They make plans to go bowling, which is awesome, because Blaine has never had a bowling friend before.

Brittany’s parents are out of town for the last weekend of break, so she throws this huge, blow-out party that everyone, apparently, who is anyone is planning to attend.

Sam gives Blaine a ride in the (heavily used) car he’s finally saved up enough to afford, proudly extolling the virtues of roll-up windows and a built-in cassette player for most of the fifteen-minute ride. When they arrive, the party is already _massive_ and in mid-swing. It seems that Brittany really did follow through and invite the entire school, and it seems that most of them showed up.

There are jocks in letterman jackets and Cheerios in weekend clothes, almost unrecognizable with their hair down. The glee club is there, and a few alumni with overlapping breaks. The academic decathlon kids are doing tequila shots in the kitchen. The Skanks are sitting in a corner drinking straight vodka and looking surly (Blaine is pretty sure one of them snapped her teeth at him). The house is teeming with bodies, the kitchen stocked with booze and pretzels, and Blaine is not entirely sure how this hasn’t turned into a brawl.

At least he was able to convince her not to serve alcoholic slushies.

Sam has agreed to be designated driver, so Blaine is free to drink, and, god, it’s probably going to be necessary to make it through this mess.

He’s downed two tequila shots and a warm beer when someone asks him to dance.

He’s squished into the corner of the living room couch, nodding absently along as Artie and Sam argue over who would win in a battle between Batman and Captain America. Brittany’s music has been spanning what sounds like literally every genre, with no theme in sight, and right now it’s landed on a kind of amazing techno remix of “Oops!...I Did It Again.” Blaine is thinking of getting up for another beer. Or maybe a gin and tonic, or a rum and coke, or some other alcohol-and-mixer kind of a deal.

“Shall we dance?”

The guy has his hand out, confident, almost teasingly gallant, lips quirked in a friendly smile. Blaine lets his eyes flick down, then up, a reflexive gesture. The guy is cute. Fit. Blond and blue-eyed, face built with a spark of mischief.

“Sure.”

Blaine lets the guy pull him out of his seat and onto the makeshift dance floor. He doesn’t exactly recognize him, but there’s something about his straight-backed posture…

“You’re on the squad with Brittany, right?”

The guy turns and winks, narrowly missing a collision with a very big, very meaty football player and his itsy-bitsy girlfriend.

“Guilty. I’m Chad.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Blaine.”

“I know.”

He turns around once more to flash a grin. Blaine raises his eyebrows.

“You’re student body president, Blaine. You’re by far McKinley’s most visible gay.”

Chad stops and faces him, apparently satisfied with their corner of the floor. It’s a little…conspicuous for Blaine’s tastes, considering some of the other guests. Chad leans close to speak in his ear.

“Don’t worry, they’re too busy trying to get laid to put the homos in their place. But we can keep it PG if that would make you feel better.”

His smile is dangerously close to a smirk, and Blaine finds himself huffing out a laugh. He leans in, too, and just slightly up, so that his lips brush against Chad’s ear.

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

The glint in Chad’s eyes is loud and clear. _Challenge accepted_.

It turns out to be kind of great. Chad is as impressive a dancer as you would expect from a Cheerio, but not so wrapped up in looking good that he forgets to have fun. It’s _real_ dancing, between them, not just moving their bodies together to the beat– not just foreplay. They mouth along with the lyrics and laugh at each other, and they can’t really talk with the music so loud, but it doesn’t matter. Music, dancing, those are ways to communicate, too.

Blaine’s pulse is starting to catch on the quick slide of Chad’s smile.

And then. Then it stops, completely, or maybe it’s just him. His stomach is flooded with sick, icy cold, his eyes stuck wide with shock.

Because there, across the room, laughing with Tina as she squeezes him tight, is Kurt.

“What’s wrong?”

Blaine comes back to himself. He shakes the life back into his face. He smiles what is likely the least convincing smile he has ever attempted.

“Nothing. I’m just thirsty. I think I’ll get a glass of water. Um. Thanks for the dance.”

He slips past Chad with one last horrible smile and winds his way through the dance floor. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know what he’ll say. He does know that he can’t escape. He breathes in, breathes out, tries to calm the desperate pounding of his heart.

It’s hard, so much harder than he expected, just seeing him.

He steels himself. He works out the strain in his smile.

“Kurt, hi!”

Kurt whips around, quickly relaxes his face into a carefully friendly smile.

“Blaine! It’s good to see you.”

He looks a little uncomfortable, if not especially surprised. Someone must have warned him.

“You too. You look, um – ” _The same. Older. Like you don’t belong here, but then, you never did._ “New York is still treating you well?”

“Oh. Yes. I’m just here for the weekend. It’s my dad’s birthday.”

Blaine remembers. He nods politely. Their two-year anniversary would have been last Tuesday.

“How is your dad?”

“He’s great. Busy, of course. He still needs to be bullied into eating his vegetables, but the doctor just gave him a clean bill of health, so it must be working.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah.” Kurt shifts his gaze and fidgets his fingers, restlessly. “So, um. How have you been?”

“Fine. We won Regionals.”

“I heard.”

They stand there, awkwardly, looking at anything but each other. Tina has long since left the scene. Blaine clears his throat.

“I was just getting some water. I should probably – ”

“Yeah, right, of course.”

“Do you want anything?”

“No, no, that’s okay.”

“Okay. Well. Um. Enjoy your trip.”

“Thanks, you – um. Enjoy the party.”

Blaine smiles his politest of polite smiles and keeps it up until he’s reached the kitchen. He gulps down a glass of water and chases it down with a double shot of raspberry vodka.

He’s really glad Sam agreed to drive tonight.

He ends up, somehow, in this group that consists of Artie, some of Artie’s friends from jazz band, and a couple of girls from the volleyball team who Blaine has never seen before in his life. They’re talking about…something, some sort of gossip about people Blaine doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want to try to find other people who might maybe be gossiping about people he _does_ know, because that sounds dangerous.

Someone sidles up to the group. His pulse spikes, but he looks up and it’s only Chad.

“Chad! Hi!”

He’d forgotten about Chad.

Chad’s face lights up with amusement.

“Blaine! You having a good time?”

“The best! You?”

“Definitely.”

“We should totally dance again! That was awesome.”

Chad readily agrees, and Blaine steers him over to an empty patch of floor. It doesn’t seem nearly as important, right now, that there’s a Cheerio and her basketball boyfriend grinding rather obscenely just to their left. Right now, it feels like no one can touch him.

Dancing with Chad is just as fun as it was the first time, maybe even better, because Chad is looking at him in this way that’s sending curlicues of shiver through his stomach. They don’t even know each other, but the way he’s looking at him, it feels like they do. They aren’t touching anywhere but the weave of their fingers. It’s enough.

The song ends, and Chad retreats to the kitchen to get them both another drink. Blaine finds Sam, who looks at him with too-heavy concern and asks if he’s okay, which is stupid, because of course he’s okay. Sam gets him a glass of water, tells him they can go home anytime he wants to. Blaine doesn’t want to. He gulps down the water and clasps Sam’s shoulder, tight, when he thanks him. He finds Chad in the kitchen.

“I’m going outside,” he says. “Do you want to take these outside?”

“Without a jacket?”

Blaine lets his lips twist up into a tease.

“Live a little.”

Chad flashes that smile.

“Lead the way.”

They slide through a sea of bodies and out the door to Brittany’s back porch. It’s cold tonight, and no one else is brave enough to face it. Blaine doesn’t mind – the sharpness of the air feels good against his skin and in his lungs.

The porch is long and spacious, with a hammock at one end and a bench swing on the other. It’s got wicker furniture of all colors and states of repair scattered haphazardly across. Lord Tubbington is lounging on the steps. He looks up when Blaine approaches, then lets his head slump back down, tail twitching lazily. Blaine settles two steps up and leans against the rail. The sky is cloudy, only a muted spot of pale light marking tonight’s nearly-full moon.

Chad sits next to him. They sip at their drinks. Blaine’s is a little heavier on the rum than he would have made it, but it’s good, otherwise.

“How long have you been cheering?” he says. His voice sounds so loud, out here.

“Since sophomore year.”

“Wasn’t that the year Coach Sylvester tried to shoot someone from a cannon?”

“Brittany, yeah. She didn’t, though.”

Blaine snorts. He lets it sit for a second. It still sounds crazy.

“I thought about trying out this year.”

Chad raises his eyebrows.

“Really? Why didn’t you?”

“I got a little…overcommitted.”

“You’d definitely have made it.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely. I’ve seen you perform, Blaine. I know how bendy you are.” He winks a naughty wink. He clears his throat. His voice goes lower, more intimate. “I’ve also… _seen_ you, you know…at Scandals.” His hand settles deliberately high on Blaine’s thigh, and he leans in so close he’s breathing hot right into Blaine’s ear. “I’ve wanted to fuck you for months.”

It’s so blunt, so crass compared to the gentle teases they’ve been trading all evening. Blaine recoils. This isn’t what he was looking for.

“Wait. Stop.”

Chad leans back, but his hand doesn’t move. He studies Blaine, inscrutable. Something goes ugly in his eyes.

“What? Am I too young for you, Blaine? Is that it? Do you only fuck old guys who buy you drinks? Or is it that you get off on being a tease?”

His hand is still there, squeezing hard. The tips of his fingers are inching higher.

“Don’t touch me.” It comes out hoarse, and weaker than he’d like.

“Come on, babe. I’ve seen you. I know you like it.”

“Not from _you_. Get _off_ me.”

Blaine grabs his wrist, bruisingly hard, and dislodges it from his thigh. He stands up, suddenly unsteady from head rush and from his fluttering pulse, paralyzed for a second while the black spots clear from his eyes. Chad rises up, too. He boxes Blaine in against the rail. They aren’t touching, but their bodies are close, and Chad’s face is looming over his, painted grotesque in the stark, low light.

“You little slut!” he growls. “Quit playing hard to get.”

“I’m _not_.”

His hands come up quick, to shove at him, probably, more of a reflex of panic than any conscious attempt at escape. His heart is pounding, his brain isn’t working, and his body is running on autopilot. His muscles are spring-loaded and about to release when he hears a voice.

“Get _away_ from him.”

Icy cold, high and clear, brooking no argument.

Chad backs off, startled. He looks over at Kurt and down again at Blaine, lingering over the way he curls up his fists.

“Not worth it,” he mutters. He picks up his drink and goes back inside without another word.

“I was handling that,” says Blaine, when it becomes clear that Kurt isn’t going to make the first move. Kurt pauses. He starts to come closer.

“I know. I just thought I would help.”

“Well. Thank you.”

He says it to the night sky. It’s hard to look at him here, when it’s just them.

“Did you…know that guy? Before tonight, I mean.”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Blaine’s heart is starting to slow. The alcoholic haze is burning off.

“I should probably – ”

“Wait a minute, okay? Can we…talk?”

Blaine holds back a sigh. He nods and drops down onto the top step. Kurt settles beside him.

“What did you want to talk about?” says Blaine, when Kurt doesn’t start.

“I don’t know.” He huffs out a dry laugh. “Everything.”

“How’s your job?”

“It’s fine, it’s good, it’s – that’s not – how are _you_ doing? Really?”

“I told you. I’m fine. Really.”

Kurt is looking at him carefully, eyes searching his face with laser beam precision.

“My dad told me he ran into you a few months ago. He said you didn’t look too good. He wouldn’t tell me any more than that. I wanted to call you, but he said maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea. Um. So, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Blaine can’t look at him, he can’t. His jaw has gone so tight it takes him a couple of tries to get the words out.

“Well, you have, so. Mission accomplished.”

“Don’t be like that. Please. I’m allowed to worry about you. I miss you.”

Blaine glances to the side. It’s a mistake. One look at that face, looking at him like _that_ , and it’s so easy to remember why he made Kurt the center of his gravity. He doesn’t say anything.

“I…nothing feels real without you, Blaine. Nothing feels really important, unless I’ve told you about it.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Kurt.”

“I don’t know, either.”

They sit in silence. There’s something comfortable about it, beneath the tension. Kurt clears his throat.

“I, um. I heard what he said. That guy, I mean. I don’t want you to think I was eavesdropping – I wasn’t, I swear. I came to find you, and I saw, and it…looked like you had it under control.”

“I did.”

“Are you _really_ okay? He was saying some pretty nasty things.”

Blaine laughs, and it comes out bitter. He’s done. There’s no point in pretending, there’s no point in hiding. There’s nothing to protect.

“Nothing that wasn’t true. Well, maybe the part about being a tease. That wasn’t true.”

“Blaine – ”

“You want to know how your father ‘ran into me’? I crashed into a tree in January and totaled my car.” There’s a sharp gasp from Kurt. “It was six AM, on a school day, and I was still drunk from the night before. I probably still smelled like the guy who brought me to his place and generously gave me a ride back as far as the parking lot at Scandals.”

“Oh, god, Blaine – ”

“I called AAA, and your dad was the one who came. He said he wouldn’t tell you.”

“Are you – I mean, were you – ”

“I wasn’t hurt. Just my car.”

“Do you still – ”

“No.”

Kurt is silent, wide-eyed and stunned, looking at him like he doesn’t know him. Blaine wants to roll his eyes because, really, is it that surprising? He doesn’t. He looks straight ahead and lets Kurt process.

“None of that – I mean, it doesn’t give him the right to say those things to you.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, to me. Whatever you’ve done…you _deserve_ more than that.”

“It’s really none of your business, Kurt.”

He can feel Kurt’s eyes boring into the side of his head. He waits for it – the final, angry word and the sound of Kurt’s heavy boots stomping back into the party. Instead, Kurt sighs, long and hard, like it hurts.

“Blaine, I…I don’t _care_. I don’t care that you cheated on me with some guy you’d never met, or that you went through a…phase, after we broke up. I know I should – maybe on some level I do, I don’t know. None of that changes… _you_. I used to try to make myself believe that you’d changed, somehow, while I wasn’t looking. I figured you must have turned into a stranger, because _you_ weren’t capable of doing that to me. But I know that’s not true. You’re the same person I fell in love with. This is just…part of you. You’re a _person_ , and you’re not perfect, and you’re allowed to make mistakes.”

“It wasn’t just a _mistake_ , Kurt.” He spits the word, because it’s so inadequate. A mistake is bubbling in the wrong letter on your Scantron. There isn’t a word in the world that feels big enough for this. He’s been trying to find it for months.

“Alright, fine. I forgive you, anyway.”

“Don’t. I don’t want you to. You shouldn’t.”

“Blaine, _stop_. Can you please just stop? I’m trying, here.”

He’s pleading and soft, so vulnerable and steely strong, at the core. Blaine closes his eyes.

“I know. I told you, I want…if we could be friends, Kurt, I would love that. I can’t do this.”

“Do you not…?” His voice wavers. He stops, shakes himself, straightens his spine. He catches Blaine’s gaze, eyes blazing. “I still love you, okay, and I still _want_ this. I will _fight_ for this, even if you won’t. You need to stop torturing yourself.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then make me.”

“I don’t trust _myself_ , Kurt. There’s no way I could expect you to trust me.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“We’ll work on it, then.”

“I can’t.”

“Blaine. Just tell me. _Talk_ to me.”

It’s just enough, just the right nudge in just the right direction to tip him over the edge.

“If we got back together, it would just be the same, Kurt, and I can’t do that. I _can’t_.”

“What do you – ”

“I was alone, Kurt. I don’t think you really get what that means. You have your family, and your friends, and I was _alone_.”

“I was – ”

“You were in New York, building a new life for yourself, and that life didn’t include me. It’s what happens. I get it. It’s what I expected, don’t you remember? It’s just – I didn’t _have_ anyone else. There was no one in my life who knew me like you did, _no one_ who really cared. And you promised me, Kurt, you said that I wouldn’t be alone, you _promised_ , and it didn’t matter. You left me behind, and I was drowning, and you didn’t even see it. I can’t do that again.”

Kurt breathes in, shakily. He’s got his arms wrapped around himself. He drops his eyes to his knees.

“I didn’t know.”

“I know.”

He looks up again, eyes bright with tears that Blaine knows won’t fall.

“I’m sorry.”

“I told you, I get it.”

“No, you’re right. I should have listened. I should have made more of an effort. But I know that, now, Blaine. We both made mistakes, and we’ve learned from them. We can do better, this time. I _promise_ I can do better.”

He’s written all over with remorse and warmth and fierce, fierce love. He means it, it’s so clear. It doesn’t mean anything.

“I’m sorry.”

“Blaine – ”

“Please stop making me say no to you.”

“Stop saying no.”

Blaine doesn’t say anything at all. Eventually, Kurt gets the message. He moves to stand up.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he says.

And Blaine is alone.


	6. Chapter 6

Spring break is over all too soon, and it’s like there’s a light suddenly visible at the end of the tunnel. College decisions are due in a month, and then there’s the play, and Nationals, and prom. Blaine, as senior class president, has already set up the graduation countdown in the cafeteria, placed strategically high enough that no one without a ladder can reach it. Ripples of anticipation have become almost palpable in the hallway. Just 75 days until everything changes.

75 days until he walks across the auditorium stage for the very last time.

It’s the end of so many things, traded in for a new beginning. He remembers how he felt at this time last year – like it was all happening too fast, like time was slipping away from him, like his _life_ was slipping away. All he feels now is ready. He wants to get out. He wants his life to _start_. He wants to make these last few months count, so that he can meet the rest of his life with his head held high and the messes he’s made finally far behind him.

Kurt calls him that Monday.

Blaine is wary when he picks up, but Kurt jumps right in and starts talking to him like it never happened. Maybe like none of it ever happened. It’s actually kind of weird. He positively gushes when Blaine asks him about work, voice a little too bright, but full of the candor that Blaine remembers finding, god, so refreshing when they first met. His monologue is just beginning to pick up steam when he stops, falters. He clears his throat.

“So,” he says. “How are things at school?”

Blaine tells him a few sparing highlights about glee and the play, still cautious, but Kurt listens, really listens, and doesn’t just “uh-huh.” Blaine starts to drop his guards. Somehow, the conversation takes a turn down one of the many branching paths of their shared interests, and before he knows it, they’ve spent an hour discussing makeovers for the cast of _Jersey Shore_ and his mother is knocking on his door to call him to dinner.

“Wait,” he says, before Kurt has a chance to hang up. “Why did you call me, Kurt?”

Kurt is silent for a moment before responding, carefully, “I’m trying to be your friend.”

It’s the start of something. Kurt calls him again on Saturday, and the following Wednesday, and soon enough, they’re talking twice a week. It’s not like it was before, when Blaine felt more often than not that he might as well be speaking Portuguese, for all that Kurt actually heard him when he opened his mouth. Kurt is careful, always, to ask Blaine about his life – he remembers names that Blaine has only mentioned in passing, helps him brainstorm ideas for his weekly glee assignments, lets him ramble on and on when he needs a sounding board for the complicated backstory he’s devised for Mercutio. He never asks Blaine about his plans for next year, never talks about the future at all.

Blaine has missed having someone like this. Kurt was the first and only person in his life who really got him, who took the time to understand how his brain worked, and his heart, and made him feel like somebody’s kindred spirit.

Blaine never had trouble making friends when he was a kid – he had a penchant for running around in the mud that endeared him to the boys in his class – but they were never really _good_ friends. He didn’t have anyone to tell his secrets to. And then he came out, and he didn’t have anyone at all.

He remembers long weeks of eating lunch alone, fighting off the hurt and the embarrassment with _anger_. These people who he’d known since he was five, who’d come to his birthday parties and picked him first for dodgeball, they shoved him aside and decided he was worthless because of something he couldn’t control, and _wouldn’t_ change if he could. They were ignorant and wrong and he wouldn’t want them as friends at all, now, even if they begged him for forgiveness.

He quit soccer and joined a community fencing club that 14-year-old Cooper had gone to for about five seconds before he realized it was a lot harder than stage combat. He quit choir and dedicated himself to his piano. He got back into the riding lessons he’d abandoned when he started middle school. He made a few acquaintances that way, almost-friends who smiled at him instead of whispering behind his back, but that wasn’t the point. He didn’t need anyone to be happy and fulfilled. He could do it on his own.

That was the story he told himself on those nights when his parents were gone and Cooper hadn’t called in months, and the stares and whispers were starting to turn into shoves and slurs. _I don’t need them_.

His parents didn’t find out about the bullying until the principal called them in for a meeting. Blaine had been caught shoving Brad Kendry in the hallway hard enough to knock him down – no one saw the way Brad slammed him head first into his locker or heard him tell Blaine to “go suck a dick, faggot.” Blaine told his side of the story with his head held high and his eyes focused on the wall behind Mr. McAllister. He couldn’t look at his parents and say these things, it just wasn’t possible. McAllister told him he couldn’t prove it.

His parents proceeded to tag-team berate the man until he agreed to clear Blaine of all charges. They grounded Blaine for a week for using violence.

He managed to curb the instinct, after that.

Things changed when he met Adrian, out and proud Adrian, who wore eyeliner every day and always smiled in the face of insults. The two of them became friends by default, allies behind enemy lines. It didn’t matter that Adrian listened almost exclusively to death metal or that his favorite actor was Nicolas Cage, because he was somebody who understood. They could talk about guys and share internet resources and make joint complaints to the principal’s office, for all the good it did them. It felt like relief, to no longer be alone.

It felt like weakness, too.

He hasn’t seen Adrian since the dance. They talked on the phone, once, after Blaine transferred, but they didn’t have much to say. Blaine had escaped. Adrian was still in the trenches.

Dalton was the first place Blaine ever really felt like he fit in. He liked the beauty of the school, and the majesty. He liked the spirit of fairness and acceptance it engendered in its students. He liked that everyone seemed so earnest and _nice_ , and that they seemed to worship their glee club as if it were made of rock stars. It seemed like paradise after the storm of hate he’d been weathering for so long.

The Warblers adopted him as soon as they found out he could sing, and all of a sudden, it seemed, he was well-liked, well-respected, listened to. He was one of them. It was wonderful, being part of a team again. He’d missed that feeling of building something together from the ground up, of trusting each other and forging bonds and making music all at the same time. Wes and David took him under their wings and, soon enough, he was getting solo after solo. It meant a lot, their belief in him.

Being with the Warblers was so easy. They saw him exactly the way he wanted them to, and never looked any deeper. It was safe.

It was lonely.

Kurt was different. He changed everything, for Blaine. He _looked_. Blaine couldn’t bring himself to hide from him, couldn’t help but crack himself open like a raw egg. He’d been waiting all his life for someone to see him, to _want_ to see him, even, to try. Someone who wanted to hold his hand and who smiled at him like he knew him. Of course he moved the stars for Kurt.

Having someone so close and so necessary to the integrity of his heart – it was scary, and amazing, and addicting. He grew to rely on it.

He knows better, now. But still.

That doesn’t stop the tingle of pleasure that runs up his spine when he sees Kurt’s name on his caller ID.

He starts spending a lot of time with Todd DeWitt. It happens naturally, after that strange but awesome evening Blaine spent at his house over spring break. They share an interest in Old Hollywood that results in multiple movie marathons, not to mention a competitive spirit that makes their bowling nights kind of a bloodbath. Todd is actually a really cool guy, once you can get him to relax, and easy to talk to.

He’s so certain about what he wants for his future, too. He’s going to Columbia to study English literature, then grad school and a Ph.D by 27 at the latest. He talks about it with that same fervor, that same reverence that Rachel always had when she talked about Broadway. It gets Blaine thinking.

“Can I ask you a question?”

They’re lounging on Todd’s bed, ostensibly working on French homework. Blaine has been staring at the ceiling for the last ten minutes. Todd doesn’t look up from where he’s furiously writing.

“Oui.”

“You’re really good, you know that?”

“Is that the question?”

“You are. You could be an actor one day, if you really wanted to.”

He looks up.

“Well, thanks, I guess. Do I want to know where this is going?”

“Why don’t you? Want to, I mean.”

He furrows his brow, thinks for a moment. This is one of the things Blaine likes about talking to Todd. He never just speaks before he thinks, not when it’s important.

“I guess I’m just…not passionate enough about it, you know? You have to be really committed to make a career in the arts, and I’m…not. I mean, I like it, it’s fun, but that’s it.”

“Did you ever consider it?”

“For about two seconds. Then I realized I liked analyzing the script way better than actually performing it, so that was a bust.”

Blaine has been weighing his options very carefully, and still it seems like his decision changes every day. His parents say he should choose the school that will give him the best career opportunities. Cooper seems to think it comes down to theater vs. film (and whether he wants to spend half the year trudging through dirty slush and getting felt up on the subway, but Blaine is ignoring those comments due to their obvious bias). Ms. Pillsbury tells him to follow his heart.

All of his life, he’s thought he wanted music. Maybe he’d be a musician, or a singer, or maybe he’d be on Broadway – the details evolved, but the theme was always the same. Now, he’s not sure what he wants. He knows he can’t make this decision impulsively. He has to use his head alongside his heart.

It’s just hard when the arguments keep going in circles; LA means sunshine and Cooper (and the heart of the film industry, can’t forget that), New York means bagels and Broadway (and Kurt), and Boston is the great unknown. There, he could be anybody, do anything, start with the slate wiped clean. He has to admit, the thought has its appeal.

He applied to all of his schools undeclared, as the mere idea of going through the audition process was too much for him to handle last fall. He told his parents he was keeping his options open. They said they were proud of him. He smiled, politely. Now, he’s starting to think they were right.

If only he could make a decision.

The deadline looms closer. Play rehearsals start to shift into high gear. Mr. Schue has decided that the only way to get himself out of his existential funk is to win a second consecutive national championship and has started making them come in for weekend rehearsals. Blaine is too tired, at night, to stare any longer at his miles-long pro/con list.

The play is starting to come together really well, at least. Now that they’re all (mostly) off book and the blocking has been worked out, they can really start to get into the nuances and “dig into the text,” as Ms. Dietrich likes to say. She works them, hard. She pushes for more, for deeper, she wants them to find what’s real in the words and then spill their guts out onto the stage. It’s…different from what Blaine is used to. He can’t hide. He can’t fake it. He can’t substitute charm for sincerity.

He finds himself rising to the challenge.

There’s this moment in the middle of their first dress rehearsal, when he’s lying on the stage and clutching at his ribs, grimacing with remembered pain.

“A plague a both your houses!”

He feels it, then, deep in his gut. The hurt, the injustice, the _regret_ of an impulsive choice and something precious, wasted. He _knows_ that feeling. The auditorium is silent and still, frozen on the inhale. And he can tell that, in that moment, the audience knows it, too.

That the audience is made up entirely of his cast mates and directing team is immaterial.

In that moment, he _knows_ with absolute certainty.

There it is.

He makes his decision.

**& &&&&**

He’s backstage. The lights are down and the stage crew is changing sets for the next scene, a tightly choreographed dance lit only by the glowing strips of tape marking corners and targets. The next scene is his first entrance.

Cooper ended up having to change his ticket due to a last-minute audition, and their parents have been called out of town for some sort of distant-family emergency, so he really doesn’t have anyone but the glee kids to see him tonight. Which is totally not a problem, and actually kind of takes the pressure off. It just niggles at some of those insecurities he’s been trying to shake.

_People leave. People lose interest and they leave. No one really cares._

It’s not about him. His parents will watch the tape, Cooper will be here tomorrow. His friends are here to support him. He doesn’t need anyone’s validation.

He breathes in, breathes out, shakes out the tension that’s crept back into his shoulders. He’s not usually nervous before he performs, but this is different.

Todd shoots him a smile. The lights come up. This is it.

**& &&&&**

He might be biased, but he really thinks his death scene is the best in the play. There’s the duel, which is so very cool and _so much fun_ , and the verbal sparring, and then there’s that moment when he gets hit under Romeo’s arm and everything just stops. It’s the pivot point, the first domino to fall, a stone breaking the surface of a glassy, still lake.

It’s the first time, opening night, that the timing works out just right. He can actually hear someone in the audience gasp. It’s awesome.

After that, he’s got nothing to do but watch from the wings and wait for his turn at curtain call. He gets his own bow. The audience stands up for him, and there’s not a thing in the world that could wipe the grin off his face. It doesn’t matter that his family isn’t there to see it because there will be more. He’ll make sure of it. There will be plenty of standing ovations in his future, and he will have _earned_ every last one of them.

He goes out to the lobby with the rest of the cast, smile still bright on his face, eager to see his friends and hear what they thought.

Tina and Sam and the rest of the glee club swarm around him and practically buzz their collective congratulations. Sam gives him a bro-hug and Tina gives him a real one, and soon enough they’ve faded into the crowd to find Artie and give him what Blaine can only assume will be similar treatment. He gives the room a last cursory glance before turning on his heel to head back to the dressing room. He’s brought up short.

He nearly runs into Kurt.

Kurt’s eyes are wide with the shock of their near miss, his hand clenched tightly around a bouquet of red roses. The other hand reaches up to smooth the line of his hair.

“Hi,” he says.

“Kurt, what are you – ”

“I took the afternoon off. I couldn’t miss your debut.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to. You know I’ve always loved to watch you perform.”

It’s obvious from the high pitch of his voice and the way he very determinedly does not bite his lip that he’s fighting nerves. Blaine doesn’t know what to make of it, at all.

“Wow. That’s – wow, that’s so nice of you. Thank you.”

“Oh! Here.” Kurt thrusts the bouquet inelegantly in Blaine’s general direction. “You were incredible, by the way. In case you wondered.”

Blaine takes the roses gingerly and can’t help but attempt to inhale them into his body. He’s always loved roses.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Um.”

Blaine looks at him now, really looks at him, taking advantage of the momentary silence. His back is ramrod straight, giving the illusion that he’s taller than he really is, or maybe it’s just that he’s hit another growth spurt. His face is written all over with that same uncertainty that’s causing Blaine to fidget with his flowers. His eyes are a little raw and red, which makes Blaine’s stomach lurch until he remembers. Kurt always did wear his heart on his sleeve, when it came to love stories. Blaine always thought it was sweet.

“I know you probably want to get out of that costume,” says Kurt, finally, “but do you think we could get dinner, after? I mean, unless you have plans…”

“No, no plans. The cast party isn’t until after closing.”

“Will your parents – ”

“Not here. Family emergency.” Kurt’s eyes widen in alarm. “No one you know. No one I know, for that matter.”

“Great. I mean – ”

“I know what you mean. Dinner sounds great. You know how hungry I get after a performance.”

“I know.”

“So I’ll just…meet you here, then?”

Kurt nods his affirmative and smiles, relieved. Blaine takes one last look and heads backstage.

He takes his time changing and washing off the make-up. He doesn’t want to keep Kurt waiting, but he needs some time to process. He’s high off of performance adrenaline right now and not in the best place to make decisions. He knows that. He needs to be careful.

He pauses for a moment over his hair. Ms. Dietrich made him style it curly for the play. He tamed it with some sort of mousse recommended to him by Todd, and it looks fairly under control, even if a little strange, to his eyes. He decides to leave it.

Most everyone has dissipated by the time he comes out. Kurt is deep in conversation with Tina and Sam, gesticulating wildly as Tina laughs. Blaine walks up to them with his chin tilted high.

“Hey,” he says, cheerfully.

Kurt looks over, and his eyes light up.

“You left it curly?”

“Just trying it out. There won’t be balloons where we’re going, will there?”

Kurt’s eyes crinkle into that sly, affectionate smile that Blaine hasn’t seen for so long.

“No balloons.” His eyes flick up. “I like it.”

Blaine narrowly resists the urge to run a hand through his hair.

“Thanks.”

“Shall we?”

Blaine nods, then waves his goodbyes to Sam and Tina.

“Thanks again for coming, guys, I really appreciate it.”

They both murmur some version of “it was fun,” Tina looking between him and Kurt with confusion bordering on concern. Blaine plants a hand between Kurt’s shoulder blades, a habit he hasn’t had the opportunity to break. Kurt gets the message. They hurry to the exit.

Kurt’s dad dropped him off, so they take Blaine’s car. Blaine very carefully doesn’t ask if Mr. Hummel knows why he came. He suspects the answer is no.

“Breadstix?” he asks instead.

“Of course. Would it be pathetic if I said I’d missed it?”

“Not pathetic. Maybe a little…surprising? New York is the Italian food capital of the country.”

“I know, I know. There’s just something about those breadsticks…”

He gets a far-off look of longing that causes Blaine to snort.

“Sounds like I know what to get you for your birthday.”

Kurt grins at him.

“Send me a box filled with breadsticks and cheesecake and I’ll love you forever.”

The words fall, heavy, just as fast as their faces. Blaine practically jams the key into the ignition.

“We should probably get going. They stop seating people at ten.”

He turns on the radio as soon as he can, not wanting to face all those things lurking beneath the silence. Kurt starts to sing along, quietly, and Blaine joins in.

“Do you get much of a chance to sing, these days?”

Kurt sighs.

“Just karaoke, generally. Sometimes I sing at Callbacks, but that’s really more Rachel’s thing.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Of course. I can practically feel myself losing my high F.”

“Do you think you’ll ever try again?”

“I don’t… No. Broadway is my first love, you know that, but I don’t think… It’s just not for me, you know? The more I watch what Rachel is going through this year, the more I think…thank _god_. I’m right where I need to be.”

“That’s great, Kurt.”

He flashes Blaine a smile, then hesitates.

“Have you made your decision yet? I know the deadlines were coming up.”

“This week, actually.”

“So you’ve…decided?”

He’s trying so hard for casual. It’s taking all the willpower Blaine possesses to keep both hands on the wheel. Reaching out to comfort him is as natural as breathing.

“Yep. NYU it is.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know Tisch isn’t a guarantee by any means, I’ll still have to apply to transfer, but that would be true anywhere. I figure New York is the place to be if I want to be an actor.”

“Not Hollywood?” The tone of his voice is teasing, but Blaine shudders anyway.

“God, no.”

“Cooper will be disappointed.”

“Probably. He’s been trying to convince me that _The Anderson Brothers Take Hollywood_ would make a good reality series.”

Kurt laughs.

“He’s not wrong, you know. I’d watch it.”

They smile at each other. Katy Perry is on the radio, singing about the one that got away. Blaine can see the sign for Breadstix up ahead. Kurt clears his throat.

“Congratulations, Blaine. I’m really happy for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. I think…you’re making the right decision.”

“Good thing, because it’s too late to take it back.”

“I mean it. You’ve – you really do have a gift, Blaine. If anyone can make it, you can.”

“Thanks. That’s – ”

“Absolutely true, and deserved. You made me cry tonight.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Not to mention… You’re going to _love_ New York. I swear. And you’ll have a tour guide at your beck and call.”

Blaine pulls into a parking space, stops the car. He smiles at Kurt, touched.

“I’ll be sure to take advantage of that.”

He unbuckles his seatbelt and moves to open the door.

“Wait.”

He turns around. Kurt is looking at him, face and heart open.

“I just – I’m going to say this now, and then we can go eat. I want us to be friends again, Blaine. Real friends. I think after we started dating I got…complacent, about us. I assumed that it was enough, that we loved each other, and I didn’t really – we stopped communicating properly. I don’t want that to happen again. I really – I need you in my life, Blaine, I do.”

“I…don’t know if I really understand. We are friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are. Just…I don’t want you to come to New York and…disappear. I want to make the effort and I want us to really be there. For each other. Okay?”

“I don’t – I mean, of course I want that, but…”

“Look, I know you’re still…figuring some things out. I know that you don’t think I should trust you and that maybe, well, maybe you don’t exactly trust me. And you’re right. We both messed up, and I want to fix it. I _want_ to trust you again, and it _kills_ me that you look at me like something you need to protect yourself against. I’m not running away from you. _Please_ don’t run away from me.”

Kurt is holding himself, fingers clenched white around his elbows, eyes a little wild with the emotions he can’t quite contain. He’s so…he’s making himself so vulnerable, and Blaine doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get it at all.

“How could you possibly forgive me?”

It slips out before he can pass it through his filter. Kurt searches his face, eyes softening.

“I don’t know. Because…I love you. And because, what you did, it hurt you as much as it hurt me. Maybe more.”

“But, Kurt – ”

“You’ve punished yourself enough, don’t you think? You don’t really need me to do it for you.”

Blaine can’t help it, he reaches out and takes one of Kurt’s hands. He’s feeling a lot of things right now, but this one overrides.

“You have to know that I would never want to hurt you.”

“I do know.”

“And I’ve _missed_ you, so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“Can we just…spend time together and not worry about what it means?”

“Of course. Yes. That’s all I want.”

“Okay then.”

He smiles, shakily. Kurt smiles back, and squeezes his hand.

“Okay.”

“Let’s go get some breadsticks.”

Kurt laughs.

It feels good.

**& &&&&**

They decide to meet for coffee the next day, too, and they end up spending the morning together. Kurt invites him over for lunch, but he can’t bring himself to face Mr. Hummel after everything. They get sandwiches at the Panera by the mall instead.

He has a matinee at 2:00, and then there’s Cooper. He takes Blaine out for an early dinner and spends the entire meal oscillating between detailed description of his latest Big Audition and last-minute advice for Blaine’s Big Show. Blaine doesn’t bother to fight the urge to roll his eyes when Cooper brings up pointing, gently, like it’s really for Blaine’s own good, but his strategies for “finding the light” are actually pretty helpful. Blaine knows he doesn’t always do that very well, in the moment. It’s with genuine gratitude and heartfelt affection that he thanks his brother for the tips.

Even if he did insist on speaking in the world’s worst southern drawl whenever the server was within earshot (he gave up on iambic pentameter pretty quickly).

Cooper ends up filming the show with a camera he borrowed from his art director friend. He comes with Blaine at his call time to scout the auditorium for the best angles. Ms. Dietrich makes him settle for the back of the center aisle, where he won’t be in anyone’s way.

It goes well that night, better, maybe than it’s ever gone before. Cooper whoops for him, loudly, at his bow and swoops in with the tightest of hugs when he emerges into the lobby.

“I am so, so proud of you, squirt,” he says. Blaine waits for the “but” that he knows must be coming, but it never does. He squeezes his brother back and lets him hold on as long as he wants.

“Thank you,” he says, when he can look Cooper in the eye and let him know how much it really means. “But _please_ don’t call me that.”

Cooper just laughs and ruffles his hair a little.

“Come on, go change so I can call the parents and tell them what a star you are.”

Blaine smiles, and he’s about to nod his agreement when he freezes. Because there, over Cooper’s left shoulder, is Burt Hummel. Kurt is hovering next to him. Mr. Hummel clears his throat.

“Hey, kid. You were really great up there. I was real impressed.”

Blaine is torn. There’s a big part of him that wants to turn and run.

“Oh, um. Thanks. That’s really nice of you. I – didn’t know you were coming.”

“It was Kurt’s idea – ”

“I thought he could use some culture.”

“ – but I’m glad he convinced me to come. Support the arts and all that. I’m glad to see you’re looking so…good. Happy.”

“Thank you.”

It’s at this point that Cooper feels the need to interject and introduce himself. Blaine is glad for the moment to get himself back together.

“You really were wonderful, Blaine,” says Kurt, with a bright, warm smile. “Again.”

Blaine can feel himself start to go red under the force of so much attention, from people whose opinions really matter.

“Thanks for coming, really, all of you.”

There’s a short silence that Kurt deftly breaks before it can get too awkward.

“We’ll let you go. I’ll call you!”

He starts to lead his father away with an insistent tug. Mr. Hummel gives Blaine a short, sharp nod before acquiescing. Cooper turns to look at him with eyebrows raised.

“Long story,” mutters Blaine.

The look on Cooper’s face promises that he’s in for a long night to go with it.


	7. Chapter 7

The school year flies by after that. Blaine and Sam are the co-heads of the prom committee and, as such, are responsible for picking the theme. Sam wants to go with _Star Wars_ – mostly, Blaine suspects, because he doesn’t want to wait until Halloween to debut his recently-acquired Hans Solo costume. The rest of the committee seems to be united in pulling for an ironic take on “Under the Sea,” not that they can explain what that actually means. Blaine comes down with a stroke of genius and campaigns for “Heroes and Villains” until everyone is on board and as excited about it as he is. Sam looks like he might cry for joy.

Blaine is also in the enviable position of choosing this year’s entertainment. He’s been carefully scrimping, saving, and streamlining all spring to make room in the budget for a real band – he’s been to two proms already, and he really does _not_ want to be coerced into attending a third. The glee club deserves a night to dance with their friends without the pressure of putting on a show. Blaine deserves a night to marathon his favorite ‘80s teen movies and not even think about homophobic bullies or rampant static electricity. He knows Mr. Schue doesn’t see it that way, but it’s not his prom, so he can deal.

He almost goes through with it, too. He’s ready, even, he’s in the choir room and about to make the announcement when he catches a snippet of conversation up and over to his left. It’s Marley and Unique, bonding over the fact that it will be their first _real_ high school dance. Prom is such an important rite of passage and it means so much that they get to experience it as sophomores…

It makes him pause.

Unique is talking with great bravado about her killer dress and even more killer date, but Blaine can hear the real excitement in her voice, the awe that this is something she gets to have. It strikes a chord.

“Blaine,” says Mr. Schue. “I believe you had an announcement.”

He moves to the front of the room with his biggest and best smile.

“It’s actually more of a request. I know it’s only a formality at this point, but I was hoping to ask, on behalf of the prom committee, if you all would be willing to perform at this year’s senior prom.”

There’s a mix of reactions, as Blaine expected, but even the most grudging agree. Sam is looking at him with his brow furrowed deeply in confusion, but he doesn’t say anything.

Blaine ends going with Brittany, Tina, and Sam on a four-way platonic date that gets disrupted about twenty minutes in, when Mike shows up unexpectedly to sweep Tina off her feet. It doesn’t really work. They dance a few uncomfortable dances, Tina looking all over the gym with her expression set squarely on Not Amused, and then disappear together for the rest of the evening.

Blaine himself doesn’t dance very much, but he does volunteer to take on more than his fair share of the performance time so that those glee club members with real dates can enjoy their evenings uninterrupted.

Sam is elected Prom King and Kelly Carmichael, the wild card nominee, is elected Prom Queen. There is no drama of any sort – everyone claps politely and they dance together, casual and fun, to the soundtrack of Unique belting out her best Aretha.

Blaine is home by midnight. He pops _Pretty in Pink_ into the DVD player and logs into Skype to call Kurt. They watch together until they both fall asleep.

He wakes at four AM to the sound of Kurt’s soft snoring. He can see the tip of his ear and one stubborn tuft of hair, illuminated by the blue-white light of his computer screen.

“Ku-urt,” he calls, softly. “Kurt, Kurt, _Kurt_ , wake up!”

The snoring stops with an abrupt snort. Kurt lifts his head from its awkward, bent angle and winces.

“What time is it?”

“Late. I figured it couldn’t be good for your neck to sleep like that.”

“Thanks.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

They smile at each other for a moment. Kurt rubs at his neck.

“Well. Good night, Blaine.”

“Sleep tight.”

After that, it’s less than two weeks until Nationals. It’s in D.C. this year, so there’s a plane and the nightmare of shared hotel rooms to contend with. Mr. Schue officially sets up a boys room and a girls room but does very little to actually enforce who goes where. Blaine brings ear plugs and an eye mask and does his best to sleep on his tiny strip of mattress. It’s difficult, relaxing, when there’s an unfamiliar body shifting restlessly next to his.

He ends up slipping quietly out of his room to find the baby grand in the lobby – his skin is too hot and too itchy, and this, he knows, is what he needs.

Mr. Schue never finds out. Blaine tells Sam he was in the bathroom.

They don’t win. It’s close, but the championship ends up going to some tiny school in Western Pennsylvania whose glee club has only just recently been revived for competition. Blaine privately agrees with the judges that they were better. And New Directions does beat Vocal Adrenaline, which makes all the difference in the world to their spirits.

The school doesn’t greet them with cups of confetti this time, and their trophy is about half as big, but it still feels like victory.

**& &&&&**

Blaine is buzzing with so many things he can’t tell where the nerves end and the anticipation begins. He’s backstage, waiting for Figgins’ introduction. His cap is on straight and his gown wrinkle-free, topped with a red and navy striped bow tie for old times’ sake. He’s got his notes clutched in his hand, though he probably doesn’t need them, with how many times he’s practiced his speech. He’s ready for this.

Finally, he hears his name, and he pulls his spine up tall. The smile isn’t remotely faked when he strides onstage to take his place at the podium.

He’s thought long and hard, over the last few weeks, about what he wanted to say. He didn’t know what he _could_ say that wasn’t a cliché. He thought about uncertainty and fear of the unknown and starting new chapters, about creating your own family and finding the place where you belong. He thought about losing love and finding new dreams. And this, this is what stuck.

“…Yes, today is an end, but that’s not all it is. Today is the day that we take charge of our lives. It won’t be easy, and we’ll make plenty of mistakes, but they’ll be _our_ mistakes. We’ll learn. There’ll be days when we lose our way and days when the world is conspiring to break our dreams apart. We’ll find our way back. We’ll find a way to mend them. Today is the day that we take control and accept the risks. Today, we learn to hold our happiness in our own hands. Today, we start to trust ourselves and, more importantly, to _fight_ for ourselves. So even though it’s easy on a day like today to look backward with nostalgia or forward with anticipation, I challenge you all to stay right here in this moment and celebrate instead. Because today is a day that we’ve all won the battle.”

There’s silence for a terrifying moment, then applause. There are even some cheers from what he assumes is his section of the audience, and a piercing whistle that he _knows_ is Cooper.

He entertained the idea of orchestrating a big musical number, here. One final solo on this stage that’s felt like _his_ for the past two years. He finds he doesn’t need it.

He moves to take his place with his fellow graduates in their neat, alphabetized rows, scanning the audience for familiar faces. He catches a glimpse of Kurt, bright as a peacock among peahens, sitting with Cooper and their parents.

It strikes him, then, how little his life resembles the dreams he had for this day. He’s used to seeing that as a mark of how far he’s fallen.

They’re wearing matching proud smiles, the four of them. His mother is even dabbing at her eyes. He feels his heart swell.

It’s the first time he’s thought that, actually, this reality might be even better.


	8. Chapter 8

The friends thing lasts for about five months, once Blaine gets to New York.

After a whole year in the big city, Kurt has become settled in his life, comfortable, but everything is brand new to Blaine. There’s dorm life to get used to (not to mention his roommate’s bizarre grooming habits – there is no reason, ever, to save toenail clippings), and no shortage of people to meet. There are a capella choirs and theater clubs and practically free tickets to Broadway shows available to him every weekend. There are lectures and readings and papers, and classes so big the TA will never know his name, much less the professor. It’s a whirlwind and so exhausting that the city noise never keeps him up at night. And still, he makes time to see Kurt.

Kurt has designated himself Blaine’s official tour guide. They spend weekends exploring this world of a city that even Kurt’s only just begun to know. They go to karaoke every week with Rachel and Brody and watch Project Runway together in Bushwick every Thursday. They’re best friends, again.

Things start to get complicated.

He stays over one night, when it gets late and he doesn’t want to take the subway back into Manhattan, and he sleeps in Kurt’s bed. They start the night stiffly held on separate sides and wake up with Blaine’s nose burrowed into that soft space at the base of Kurt’s neck and Kurt’s arm draped heavily over his waist.

They go to parties together, sophisticated work parties and stupid dorm parties and, once, an even stupider frat party. They both drink in wary moderation, except for that one time when Kurt downs so many cosmos he can barely stand, and he kisses Blaine against a wall until they’re both panting and, god, so desperate. And that time when they’ve both had too much and they make out on Blaine’s bed until his roommate comes home and they pretend, badly, to be asleep until they actually are.

They don’t talk about these things, in the morning.

Kurt goes out on dates with all sorts of suitable people, older guys with jobs at the website and, once, a male model. He gives Blaine a shifty-eyed look the first time he mentions that someone asked him out, but Blaine tells him with genuine goodwill that it doesn’t bother him and that they should be able to talk about these things.

If he doesn’t necessarily _like_ it, well, that’s no one’s business but his.

Kurt doesn’t see any of them more than a couple of times, despite Blaine’s subtle and Rachel’s not-so-subtle encouragement.

Blaine doesn’t date. He goes to bars with his friend Toby sometimes, because Toby is a sophomore and knows where they’ll get carded and where they won’t. Blaine plays the part of wingman like he was born to it, but he shies away from the offers he gets, himself. He’s told himself he wouldn’t do this anymore.

He toys with the idea of going out to a real dance club, sometimes, alone, just an anonymous face with an anonymous body in a sea of people tied together only by the thread of the beat. It pulls at him. He puts it out of his mind.

Toby is the one who brings it up. Midterms are over, and Blaine’s audition for Tisch is next week, and he’s absolutely itching to blow off some steam.

“There’s nothing like it for stress relief,” says Toby. “How do you think I made it through finals last year?”

Blaine agrees, immediately, and calls Kurt to get him on board. It doesn’t take much convincing.

Toby gives Blaine what he refers to as a “club makeover,” which really just seems to entail dressing him in uncomfortably tight jeans and a v-neck t-shirt and swiping glitter over his cheekbones.

“Trust me,” he says with a wink. “You’ll thank me for it later.”

The club is huge, and packed with dancing bodies. It’s dark and bright all at the same time, colored light shifting constantly, carving out highlights and deepening the hollows left by muscle and bone. The music has a throbbing bass line that has Blaine’s body moving without his consent.

It’s overwhelming. It’s exhilarating. Kurt doesn’t look entirely comfortable.

Blaine steers them over to the bar.

“It’s a little much, don’t you think?” yells Kurt, right next to his ear. It’s the only way to make himself heard.

“I don’t know, it could be fun.”

He’s _aching_ to get out to the dance floor.

They do shots and order cocktails, because they’re in the city and no one needs to be designated driver. Someone asks Kurt to dance, but he turns him down.

“You don’t want to dance?”

Kurt knocks back the rest of his drink. He turns around and attempts to flag down the bartender.

“Maybe later.”

Some guy approaches Blaine with a hunger in his eyes that Blaine feels calling back in his gut. He buys Blaine a drink and tugs him out to the dance floor.

It’s easy to lose himself, out there. It’s familiar and so good, feeling this guy’s body against his, heavy hands weighing warm against his back, moving together to the beat that’s coursing through them and setting their pulses in synchrony.

If he thought about it, he’d know where this was leading. He doesn’t think.

Kurt must, though, because it could be hours or it could be minutes, but it feels like all of a sudden that he’s there, cutting in. Blaine lets his body sink into Kurt’s, nuzzles his nose right up under Kurt’s jaw, no longer thinking or caring even at all about No Name Guy who was breathing into his ear only seconds ago.

It’s sweet here, solid and familiar and just _so_ sweet-hot-good. He wants to wind himself up in this skin, just melt his body and sink right in and stay there forever. He presses their bodies close, so close, but never close enough.

Kurt stops moving, abruptly, and plants a guiding hand low on Blaine’s back. Blaine can feel his pulse racing through his palm and hear the panting of his breath. Kurt won’t meet his eyes.

“I think maybe we should go,” he says, and Blaine wants to protest, but he promised they’d leave when Kurt wanted to, so he doesn’t.

Kurt lets Blaine lean into him on the subway and ramble on about how he wants to go back there to that dance floor _every night_. He walks him up to his dorm room and doesn’t stay the night.

Things are kind of weird for weeks after that. They get into a fight when Blaine tries to have a conversation about it, the kind they haven’t had in so long they’ve almost forgotten how to do it. Almost.

They both say some ugly things, but Kurt is there the next day, waiting outside of Blaine’s building with cooling coffee and an apology on his lips.

They talk.

They both still have issues, it seems, from last year.

Blaine isn’t an idiot. He knows where things are going between them. He’s just…terrified. He never wants to be that person he was, ever again.

He feels it, sometimes, the yearning of his heart to hand itself over, but he can’t let it. He absolutely won’t allow himself to build his happiness around just one person, not when he knows where that can lead.

They push at each other and pull. They’re best friends, and they’re more, and they don’t talk about it.

Until they do.

It’s the day before Valentine’s. It’s not in the heat of the moment, but the calm, when Kurt looks into his eyes and says, “I’ve never not been in love with you, you know.”

It’s suddenly hard to breathe, but Blaine manages anyway.

“Kurt.”

“Can we just…stop pretending? I don’t want to feel for anybody the way I feel for you, not ever. I want us to _work_ this time, Blaine. I want to work at it every day with you. I don’t care if it will be hard, I don’t, because I’m just – I’m so tired of holding back.”

Their faces are close, their eyes locked. Kurt is so clearly riding on the edge of something desperate, his eyes wide and willing Blaine to just, finally, _listen_. And Blaine wants to, he really does, but the fear in his gut won’t stop casting up white noise. The silence between them stretches until the tension is almost too much to bear. Kurt is just starting to wilt into disappointment. Blaine’s heart gives a violent tug, and it hits him, in a crystalline moment of clarity.

He’s still running away.

Giving in to his fear is just another way of handing over control.

And, _god_ , but he’s tired of holding back, too.

He’s a different person now, and so is Kurt. They’ll never get back what they had, and Blaine wouldn’t want to. They can build something new. Really, they already have.

A sense of calm settles over him, warm and lovely. He breathes in.

He reaches out and cups the curve of Kurt’s jaw in his hand. He nods.

“Okay.”

Kurt lights up so beautifully and leans in until their foreheads are touching.

“Can I?” he murmurs.

Blaine smiles and pulls him gently in.

It’s their last first kiss.


End file.
